


More Problems and Less Solutions

by eikyuu



Series: A Change In Time [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I Tried, I really dont know where this is going but here you go, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Winter soldier!Bucky, Time Travel, Tony deserves better so I'm giving him better, Tony's in a bad place but hopefully it'll get better, Young Howard Stark, and also worse in some parts whoops, past stony if you really squint, so suspend your disbelief, terrible explanations of time travel, winteriron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-11 13:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10465707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eikyuu/pseuds/eikyuu
Summary: Tony can't make sense of the present, and he's terrified of the future, so he turns to the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here's my first WIP in months. I didn't even pretend to do any research concerning the mechanics of the time machine, so prepare yourselves for some really vague/fake science in this chapter lol

This is _precisely_ why Tony should be supervised at all times.

 

He’s currently down in his workshop (one can only wander around the mostly-empty tower for so long before it becomes _too_ soul-crushing), a mess of mechanical parts sprawled out over every available surface, including a tarp he has spread on the floor. Dum-E sits helplessly in the corner, as if to say “ _I don’t even know where to start_ ”.

 

The faintly-glowing screens Tony has set up around him are absolutely _coated_ in numbers and variables, and the occasional cluster of words he’s scribbled out with his finger. Completely indecipherable to anyone, sometimes including Tony. He scratches at his beard, which has become unkempt with the last two months, and rolls his shoulders to illicit a couple pops. He feels so _close_ —to what, he isn’t completely sure. If it’ll actually work, he has no clue whatsoever.

 

Even though dying isn’t _necessarily_ something Tony would object to at this point in his life, it isn’t the goal here, so he’d like to avoid explosions if at all possible. He’s been cranking out numbers for the past two weeks straight, and has also essentially closed off communication with the outside world for the past five or so.

 

The world is quiet in the wake of the Avengers disbanding. The accords are still in need of adjustments, but are otherwise holding up. Rhodey is showing excellent progress, now that his legs have been outfitted with everything Tony could possibly think to assist his friend’s ability to walk. He’d never be 100% again, but at least he was closer now.

 

Natasha was still MIA: she left last month, presumably to hunt down Bruce, or perhaps to traipse over to Wakanda to rendezvous with T’Challa and his merry band of fugatives. Or whatever else it was she did these days. Thor was still up in _rainbowland_ out in space, or another dimension. Tony still didn’t like to think about that one. Everyone else was equally scattered, most of them were with Steve. Tony didn’t like to think about that, either.

 

There was some framework already assembled, just a bare skeleton of the picture in Tony’s mind. The other components were similarly incomplete, but he had almost all of them _started_ , at least. His workshop was a total nightmare, more so than usual, and that included the engineer himself. Hair just a little shaggy but sticking out at all angles from hands tugging through it constantly, eyes glinting with half-manic, half-desperate energy, his normally immaculate facial hair now resembling that of a lumberjack. Clothes stained with all kinds of stuff.

 

How pathetic was it that a futurist like Tony Stark wanted nothing more than to return to the past? Time travel was largely dismissed by the scientific community as a possibility, with current technology and the understanding of physics, but like hell had that ever stopped Tony before. He wanted to _try_. Was he actually capable of pulling it off? Debatable. Was he crazy? Absolutely.

 

Pepper wasn’t really keen on talking to Tony after their split, but she’d made an effort to reach out on many occasions, and was dismissed every time. Eventually, Tony cut off the methods of reaching him altogether.  He half-expected the police to come see if he was dead any day now at this point.

 

The strangest part of all of this was, Tony didn’t have a specific goal in mind. Go back when? Run where? Where could he go that things would change and be better for anyone? Was time really a delicate fabric that could be torn apart by anomalies, was it a pond that was effected with every tiny ripple across the surface? Did Tony care if he messed things up worse? Was there something worse than this?

 

He just…had to _leave_. And it wouldn’t be enough to go live in another country, it wouldn’t be enough to change his identity and live in the woods someplace. He needed to really, truly disappear; and this was his solution. Of course it was, he was Tony Stark. Desperate, strange, and brilliant.

 

His company didn’t need him, now that it was in the capable hands of Pepper. The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D were both burned to the ground. No girlfriend to worry about him, no friends to miss him. In his eyes, Tony was now free to fuck off to wherever he wanted. Maybe he could go back to a time long before he was born, see how it felt to not be recognized by every man, woman, and child on the planet.

 

He was focusing on the mechanics first, since that was the key component of this plan, but he also needed to plan for whatever happened to him when it worked. _If_ it worked. He’d need an assumed identity, and to avoid most anachronisms. He needed a way to come back to the present, if he chose to return.

 

With a long sigh, Tony resigned himself to returning upstairs for a shower and a proper meal, maybe even sleep for a couple hours in a bed instead of the couch in the workshop. Even _he_ could tell when he was useless.

 

The shower was nice, but looking in the mirror wasn’t such a treat. Tony trimmed the beard down to a more normal style, and did the same with his hair, at the very least just to manage his appearance enough so that if someone came asking around they wouldn’t be horrified by what they found.

 

The food he prepared was hardly a five star meal, but it was marginally better than Red Bull and protein bars and microwave meals. He ate in the near-painful silence.

 

“Boss, there’s a charity gala next Saturday if you—“

 

“Friday, I already told you. Wipe my schedule clean. No charity events, no press conferences, no special appearances, nothing. I’m laying low.”

 

“According to local news reports from the last five weeks, many people are beginning to speculate on your whereabouts, and your current mental condition.”

 

“Let them wonder.”

 

The AI didn’t respond. Tony briefly, bitterly, thought of how pathetic it was that a computer was the last thing around that even remotely cared. And he was the one who programmed it to.

 

“Wake me up in four hours,” he says, dragging himself to his bedroom.

 

Dropping onto his mattress in a limp pile of exhaustion, Tony fell asleep almost as soon as he was settled. He always liked these nights the best, when he’d exhausted himself to the point that he couldn’t think anymore. Sure, it meant he couldn’t come up with new ideas, but it also meant he couldn’t think about the bad stuff, everything that was _wrong_ in his life. The kinds of stuff that haunted him at night.

 

In the end, it wasn’t Friday that woke him up, it was an obnoxious ringing. The noise persisted, no matter how much Tony groaned, so he rolled out of bed. As consciousness started return to him, Tony groped around in the dim lighting of his room until he came to one of his dressers. The drawer was ringing. Brows furrowed in his half-awake stupor, Tony ripped the drawer open and pulled up several layers of folded shirts until his fingers wrapped around a buzzing cellphone. His stomach dropped, and as if sobering, he suddenly become fully awake. It was the cellphone Steve had mailed to him, now resting in Tony’s too-tight grip, still ringing. He stared at it, the little square of light that read “ _Incoming Call: Unknown_ ”.

 

 _He_ was always the one given the choice, _he_ was the one who decided if he would contact Steve. That was the deal, Tony held all the power of the arrangement. He never thought that someone might call _him_. The light went black again, and it stopped ringing for a moment, before coming back to life. “ _Incoming Call: Unknown_ ”. Tony’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

 

“Hello?” He patted himself on the back for only sounding tired, and not all the other things he was feeling.

 

“Tony--” Unmistakably Steve’s voice. Tony hangs up immediately. The phone starts ringing again almost as soon as he ends the call.

 

“ _What_?” His voice is harsher this time, and somehow even more tired.

 

“It’s been a while,” Steve clears his throat, obviously not enjoying this conversation either. “I was wondering if…if maybe we could try to sort some things out. Not necessarily that we’d come back to America, but maybe we could meet in the middle somewhere?” He pauses, before adding “I really hate the way we-- _I_ left things. It wasn’t fair to you.”

 

Tony’s mouth is dry. His brain is going 200 miles per hour, but words escape him. What _can_ he say?

 

“Sorry, Cap. I’m busy right now. I don’t feel like talking.”

 

“…I know I hurt you. I know that. But please, I—“

 

“What does it matter what _you_ want anymore, Rogers?” his voice is shaking and low. “You’ve made your choice. You didn’t want any part of the Avengers anymore, least of all me.” He hates the truth in it.

 

“ _Tony_ …”

 

“ _No_. You don’t get to sound like the mature one. You don’t get to be exasperated with me.” He closes his eyes, keeps them squeezed shut. “You’ve lost all rights. I’m done.”

 

“Tony—“

 

“Call me when the world is ending. Or just _don’t_.” He thinks about just destroying the phone then and there, but instead he snaps it shut and throws it back into the drawer.

 

“Friday, how much longer until the alarm goes off?”

 

“An hour and a half, boss.”

 

He goes back to bed and dreams of nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

Fueled on by pure spite, and trying to distract himself from whatever Steve was calling about but didn’t have the chance to tell him, Tony works twice as hard. The framework becomes fleshed out with wires. It starts looking like… _something_. And then is starts to look like something straight out of a cheesy sci-fi movie and Tony has to suppress his mild disgust.

 

The components start to become completed and become a part of the frame, the equations sort themselves out on the screens, become neater. Tony dons more protective garments as he prepares for the trial runs.

 

The following weeks are a mess. And a lot more fire than Tony was expecting, really. The machine threw off sparks every time he attempted to use it. Hundreds of adjustments crept closer to thousands as the days passed. Eventually though, the machine started to show signs of progress. In almost a month’s worth of tinkering and even more research, it was holding a stable portal.

 

Tony started small, sending a coin into the future by several seconds. Each time, the coin materialized at the time Tony specified. Next, he tried organic matter: an apple, which returned seemingly unaffected.

 

“Holy shit…” he muttered, turning the fruit in his hand before taking a bite. It tasted alright, he thought.

 

Of course, the tests didn’t account for human transport, or even living animals, and he couldn’t really test sending objects into the past, or he would’ve already? Time travel made even _his_ brain hurt. And anyway, he was feeling reckless enough to assume that the machine would work as well backwards as it did forwards. He should send something a month into the future, just to be sure.

 

Tony develops a device to take measurements while passing through the field. In the meantime, he thinks of a fake name and gathers up whatever he thinks he’ll need. He writes out a half-assed will; makes Pepper the executor, divides up everything between her, Rhodey, Happy, and various charities.

 

In a month, the device returns, and provides Tony with enough conclusive evidence to think it’s worth trying. Or maybe he’d already decided he’d go a long time ago, because what did he really have to lose?

 

Tony takes a long pull from a bottle of Jack Daniels and looks at himself in the mirror. His facial hair is finely groomed once again, as is his hair. Is this a suicide? He hopes not, it would be embarrassing to die this way. He kind of wants to succeed, just so he can return someday and rub Reed Richard’s smug face in it.

 

His clothes are the plainest he owns: a pair of nondescript pants, a blank t-shirt, and a grey canvas jacket. He also has a watch on his wrist, with dials on it for date inputs. It corresponds with the machine, makes it lock on the device’s location and bring him back to the present, or whatever new date is entered. In theory.

 

He's filled a bag with a wad of loose bills, some changes of similarly plain clothing, a different watch (this one similar to the one he used when Barnes had gone berserk at headquarters, containing only a temporary version of an Iron Man gauntlet), and various tools, including his faithful Swiss Army knife. He can’t think of much else to take with him.

 

“Here goes…well, everything.” He approaches the machine, which hums impressively as it holds a shimmering blue portal open, beckoning Tony to pass through it. He looks over at Dum-E, and it waves sadly, its beeps almost trying to convince him to stay.

 

“Don’t worry, pal. I’ll be back.” Eventually. Maybe.

 

He gets to the keypad and has no idea what year to type in. Certainly nothing too far back, or he’d die from the lack of technology, but still well before his birth in the case that overlapping Tonys would disrupt the timeline.

 

 _1940_ , he types in finally, one digit at a time. He stares at them, lined up neatly on the screen. He stops to write a messy note on a piece of scratch paper and leaves it on a workbench for someone to find.

 

Tony tries to push his body through the portal in one jump, because he’s not entirely sure what would happen if he put one foot in first. What happens next is not what he was expecting. He isn’t really sure what he _was_ expecting, to be fair.

 

It’s a blur of near-blinding light, a wave of nausea, and it lasts for forever and for the blink of an eye at the same time. Then darkness. Tony stumbles into a pitch-black room with hard cement floors, and collapses. He groans, the sound echoing.

 

“Ugh…” He tries to stand up, but instead he just doubles over and vomits. A sweat breaks out on his forehead as he continues to dry-heave. “Bad idea…terrible idea…”

 

Then he promptly passes out.

 

He comes to, he doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the lights are still off, wherever he is. He stands up, legs buckling, and pats himself down, checking for any signs of damage. Worse for wear, but otherwise in one piece.

 

Tony recognizes the room as the workshop, now that his eyes have adjusted to the dark. It’s much different than what he’s used to, but he can recall from the old videos of Howard the placement of the workbenches, the dated technology lying around. He’s in Stark Tower, but it’s definitely not the one he knows.


	2. Chapter 2

Getting up to a main floor in the tower took a little finesse. Subtlety had never been Tony’s strong-suit, he’d never _had_ to be sneaky: when he was just a billionaire, it was useless to try and avoid the prying eyes of the public, and when he’d become Iron Man, it just didn’t seem necessary to try and hide the equivalent of a rocket-propulsion nuke. (Besides, there was no fun in sneaking around, it just wasn’t his style). He slipped into a hallway once he left the workshop, and luckily he could walk around the place blindfolded or there might actually be a problem with navigating the labyrinth of hallways.

 

Occasionally, Tony would catch some movement out of the corner of his eye, and flattened himself to the wall, waiting for the person to pass him before continuing to make his way through the building. Once he got to the main lobby it wouldn’t be a problem; it was usually open to the public and therefore crowded with a good number of people at any given time. Tony strode out into the lobby and kept his eyes forward, trying to not gape at how different it was—and a _lot_ smaller. _Keep walking. Almost there._

 

Once he burst triumphantly from the building, Tony found himself in the mostly-darkness once again. (The streets were still bright and bustling, this _was_ New York after all). He took a moment to adjust, then clenched his bag straps tightly and started walking, not much of a destination in mind, just wanting to see what was around: large signs, tall brick-faced buildings, old time-y cars crammed bumper-to-bumper as far as he could see. Tony had seen more than his fair share of World War II era films, but none of them did the time period any justice. What struck him most were the similarities, not the differences. And it was in full color, not sepia.

 

* * *

 

 

After getting lost on the streets for over an hour, Tony slipped into a corner diner and drank coffee as he watched the passerby from a window that looked out on the street. The sky was steadily lightening now as late night became early morning, the crowds of people in dresses and suits were slowly replaced by people in uniforms heading to work. Eventually, the empty restaurant became filled with patrons trying to get a little caffeine to start their day. Tony decided to take this as a cue to leave, maybe go hunt down a hotel.

 

On his way out the door though, Tony’s shoulder slammed into something solid, which sent him stumbling backwards. A gut-clenching voice rang out immediately, accompanied by a warm, calloused hand to steady Tony’s balance.

 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t see where I was going. You okay?” The accent was painfully Brooklyn, but the voice was still unmistakable. Tony’s eyes darted to the man’s face, the grey-blue eyes brighter than he’d ever seen. Shorter hair. Still _undeniably_ Bucky Barnes.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony can’t hide the wave of anger and surprise that washes over him. He jerks his shoulder away from the outstretched hand, watching as a much younger Bucky’s face changes from concern to confusion.

 

“Whoa, what’s with the scowl? You look like you’re trying to set me on fire.” Bucky raises a brow, and doesn’t look like he intends to get out of Tony’s path in the way that only outgoing 20-something-year-olds do. Tony can almost make out the teasing in his tone.

 

This all felt so surreal—Tony never would’ve guessed that he’d run into someone he knew, much less one of the people he would’ve been happy to never see again in his life. What were the odds? (Tony _knew_  the odds, he just didn’t think they’d be relevant).

 

This Barnes was nothing like the one he met in present-day though--Tony guessed that decades of torture and brainwashing tended to change a person--but that didn’t make the differences any less jarring: the clarity to his eyes, the overall youth to his face, the way he stood up straight like he wanted to take up his fair share of space. No longer did he look like a wounded animal--or _not yet_ , rather.

 

“Mind side-stepping for a minute, pal? I want out of here.” Tony keeps his eyes level, staring past Bucky and into the street behind him. Bucky seems to contemplate the request for a moment before finally getting out of Tony’s way. He glances back at Tony for a fleeting moment with…interest? The engineer doesn’t spare a second look before he walks too-quickly out onto the street, angry at himself for the way his heart is racing, palms sweating.

 

* * *

 

 

After searching for an hour, Tony finds a small hotel with vacancies. His mind is still hazy and far away, trying and failing to reconcile the image of the Winter Soldier burned into his memory with the man he just ran into. Why did he think this was a good idea anyway? What, did he think he’d get to meet his dad before Steve’s disappearance had driven him half-crazed, maybe even bond? _God_ , how delirious was he, really? Deep breaths.

 

Tony’s fingers wrapped around his watch instinctively once he’d gotten into his temporary room. All the walls were white and bare, except for a little painting of a sailboat on the open sea. The bedspread was blue, the bedside lamp was dated-looking and seashell-shaped. He could call it quits right now, probably save himself from more anxiety episodes. Just pretend this never happened, take apart the time machine and go back to making Iron Man suits until the alcoholism finally did him in. Any of that might be better than staying here and meeting more ghosts from the future.

 

 _No_. Tony came here for _answers_. To what, he didn’t know yet, but there must be _something_ to be learned or gained from this, some meaning to be taken away and used to get past whatever it is that Tony is stuck on. Closure, understanding, _something_. Anything. Progress was what he was after at the end of the day, and he couldn’t very well progress if he let things continue on this way, wasting away alone in his lab, missing the Avengers but saying nothing. Missing Steve and saying nothing. He’d die like that if something didn’t change.

 

Maybe if he actually made the effort to learn about Steve’s past, Tony could do something about the situation in the future. Maybe he could finally make sense of Captain America, find an alternate solution to this problem, and reunite the Avengers. A pipe dream for sure, but Tony couldn’t think of one more worthy of pursuing. This was going to hurt, no doubt. He might even be making a huge mistake. He _probably_ was.

 

But he had to _try_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but more coming this weekend hopefully


	3. Chapter 3

Tony spent much of that day pacing around the hotel room, talking himself in and out of staying. He fell asleep with a headache and an empty stomach, having been too preoccupied to try to locate food for himself. The following morning, after Tony slept off the rest of his post-time travel stupor, he went back to the same corner diner as before. He sits in a table at the back and nurses coffee for an hour before ordering anything else.

 

Just like the previous morning, the diner was mostly empty. Now that Tony wasn’t half-out of it, he could appreciate the blue-tiled bar lined with red stools, the metal finish on the counters. Everything permanently smelled of bacon grease. The waitress kept smiling at Tony when she walked by, a pretty blonde who was maybe a few years younger than him. He might’ve flirted with her a little under normal circumstances, but right now he was far too busy thinking about what he was going to do. Couldn’t sit here all day, just _waiting_ for something to happen.

 

As it occurred, something _did_ happen. The thing Tony wanted least to happen right now. The bell above the door chimed, and in walked Bucky Barnes. If Tony hadn’t been too upset by the mere sight of him yesterday, he might’ve thought that this was a place Bucky frequented. It felt way too soon to cross this bridge, Tony still didn’t know how to feel. Surely, this man and the man who killed his parents weren’t the same. This man, by all accounts, was selfless, kind, and charming--probably someone Tony would get along with. But that didn’t matter, he knew. They wore the same face.

 

Maybe he was just overthinking; after all, Bucky wasn’t even looking in his direction. Instead, he sat at the bar and grinned at the waitress with warm familiarity, crossing his arms as he hunched over the counter. From the corner, Tony observed him carrying on pleasant conversation as the blonde poured his coffee. He was wearing a plain shirt tucked into a pair of trousers, the clothes of a man who did manual labor, Tony noted. He’d read somewhere, after researching Steve not for the first time, that Bucky Barnes worked down at the docks before he was drafted.

 

Tony noticed that his heart wasn’t hammering quite as much as it had yesterday, his palms a little less sweaty. Maybe over time, he could ease himself into being okay around Bucky, work up to approaching him….oh _crap_ , he was looking over.

 

Bucky turned his head, just a little, and caught Tony’s eye. He smiled. Tony looked away, gritting his teeth. Damn it. He kept his eyes down on his plate, pushing around the remnants of his eggs. This diner might have some fine coffee, but Tony couldn’t keep coming here if it meant _this_. Minutes passed and Bucky didn’t seem to be making any move to approach Tony, so he relaxed his shoulders and glanced up. Instead of seeing grey eyes, he saw the back of a plain shirt.

 

“Alright…one more coffee, a trip to the bathroom, and I’m never coming back here,” he mutters. The waitress comes around again and refills his coffee. She winks at him as she carries off his plate and he can’t help but smirk back at her. What a shame, this is such a nice place. Makes sense that Bucky would come here often.

 

On his way to the door, keeping his head down, Tony catches movement in the corner of his eye and by then it’s too late to react.

 

“Hey, you’re the guy from yesterday, right? The one I ran into?” Bucky, standing up from the bar, practically looms over Tony. Except nice people like Bucky don’t really loom, they just smile sheepishly down at you and make you feel small, apparently.

 

“Yeah,” Tony replies gruffly, still unable to meet Bucky’s eyes.

 

“Look, I ain’t trying to bother you or nothing, but I’ve never seen you around. And, well, I know pretty much everyone who comes to this diner,” He runs a hand through his hair, which is short and clean. He must have gotten a haircut recently. “I guess I’m just wondering if I’ll be seeing you around?”

 

“And why do you care?” Tony counters with a raised brow, managing not to sound as harsh as he had yesterday. Progress.

 

Bucky shrugs. “I get bored, and I like meeting new people, making conversation.”

 

Tony considers him for a moment before he realizes that he’s feeling more than a little heartbroken over this. He looks up at Bucky for the first time, and sees the earnest expression, the relaxed posture. He thinks of the man who looked like he wanted to disappear into nothingness when Zemo had revealed the video proof of what he’d done.

 

 

_“Do you remember my parents?”_

 

_“I remember all of them.”_

 

 

“Yeah, I’ll be around. At least for a while,” he says finally. Bucky breaks into a lazy smile, apparently the type to be easily pleased. Tony thinks, not for the first time, that Bucky Barnes truly is _World War II Photograph_ handsome.

 

“Great. I’ll see you around, then…?” The raise of his eyebrows prompts Tony’s name without words.

 

“Anthony, Anthony Carbonell. But everyone just calls me Tony.” How long _had_ it been since he’d had to introduce himself to _anyone_?

 

“I’m James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky. Nice to meet you Tony.” He sticks out his hand, the one that will eventually be replaced with metal. Tony takes it.

 

“Nice to meet you too, Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tony leaves the diner, feeling dazed. The overall vibe of this entire trip was feeling more and more like a fever dream. He takes a cab to Stark Tower, but gets out a couple blocks away to walk.

 

“ _No_ , Phil. I said as much scrap metal as you could possibly buy. _As much as you could possibly buy_ , Phil. This is not even close to how much I need. What am I paying you for, Phil?”

 

Tony’s mouth went dry when he heard that voice. Sure enough, Howard Stark was standing out on the sidewalk in front of the building, chewing out some sad sap who must be Phil. A tired-looking man was hovering nearby, clutching a clipboard.

 

“I’m sorry boss, this was all the yard would offer me.”

 

“I know there isn’t a necessarily high supply of the stuff right now, but I gotta call bull shit, Phil. They know who I am, they wouldn’t give you this measly pile and send you back here. I could go down there myself and get a better deal, so why am I paying you?”

 

“Boss—“

 

Howard looks stressed, which is a similarity he shares with Tony to be sure. Must be about to start a new exciting project, and god help anyone who prevents that from happening. He looks over and catches Tony’s eye.

 

“You, pal! Come over here!” It’s a command, not a request. With a heavy weight in his stomach, Tony approaches the three men, ignoring the growing crowd of spectators. That, if anything, is one thing he’s used to.

 

Howard puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You. I like your face. You know who I am?” Tony nods. “What’s your name?”

 

“Tony...sir.”

 

“Anthony! Love that name. Phil, this is Tony. I just met him three seconds ago and I’m betting he can bring me back better materials than you have. What do you think, Phil? Should I give Tony a chance to prove me right?”

 

“No, sir—I can do better—“

 

“David, how many times has Phil tried to sell me that one?”

 

The tired man with the clipboard lifts up a couple papers. “Four times, sir.”

 

“Four times! Wow, I was very generous, wasn’t I?”

 

“Sir—“

 

“I gave you four chances to turn this around. Phil, I’m afraid I’ll have to transfer you to a different department, you’ll take a little pay cut. Learn from your mistakes, Phil.” His tone is dismissive, but Phil looks grateful anyway: surely he thought he was being fired. Howard’s hand is still resting on Tony’s shoulder.

 

“Tony, good to meet you,” Howard says with a grin, now turning to face Tony. Surreal, completely _surreal._ Tony takes the hand offered to him and shakes it after a stunned moment. “Need a job, by chance?”

 

Tony clears his throat, inwardly laughing at this bizarre irony. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, Mr. Stark. Do you need a temp?”

 

“Hm. Sure, why not? Like I said, I like your face. You’ve got a good name and a strong handshake. I bet you could get a better deal collecting metal for me than Phil did, anyway.” All Tony can think is, wow, this is more compliments than Howard has ever given him.

 

“David, I want you to set Tony up, give him the run-down of this operation. Also, call out a team to bring in the metal that Phil _did_ manage to get.” Howard is already walking back into the building. He halfway-turns to look over his shoulder, flashing a grin.

 

“I expect great things, Tony. _Great_ things.”


	4. Chapter 4

  David was one surprise short of having a major heart attack, Tony quickly realized. He followed the younger man through the building and listened as his tasks were listed for him. The grip the man had on that clipboard made Tony’s hands ache in sympathy.

 

“Report downstairs to fill out a few documents, and I’ll send your itinerary of raw materials for the week. Note well that Mr. Stark has a habit of changing his mind last minute as to what he needs and when, so take the information with a grain of salt and plan your outside schedule accordingly.”

 

“I think I’ve got it,” Tony replies, barely hiding the amusement in his eyes. Some things really didn’t change, like Starks having severely stressed-out assistants. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

 

David seems a bit caught off guard by Tony’s politeness, but nods quickly and rushes off to do god knows what. Tony stands there in the middle of the lobby for a moment, taking it all in. Surely, he thought that getting close to his dad would’ve taken more work, maybe involving a disguise and some liquor, but then again it was so much in Howard’s style to randomly pick some man off the street out of an arbitrary attraction like a name or face. He shrugs and heads downstairs.

 

After striking up pleasant conversation with the clerk at the payroll office, Tony managed to falsify enough information on the forms to slide through without question. For the moment, at least. As long as he didn’t completely screw up this job, nobody should even think twice about the fake names and numbers and credentials. This sort of thing would be impossible in the modern era, but apparently it was relatively simple to accomplish here if one could fabricate and lie as easily as they breathed. That was the textbook definition of Tony Stark.

 

He picked up the job with relative ease. Knowing the city like the back of his hand coupled with his finesse for schmoozing virtually anyone made for a very successful first day for Tony, despite the late start. Howard was apparently quite taken with him, because he came by the garage where the raw materials were kept and thanked Tony in person.

 

“I love it when I make smart decisions,” he says as he shakes Tony’s hand again. He’s smiling in the way that says he hasn’t slept in a few days but he’s still manically tinkering away in his workshop anyway. Tony smiles back, in the way that says he’s guarding himself from the likelihood of disappointment and heartbreak.

 

“I’m thankful for the opportunity, sir.”

 

“Were you really in need of a job when I pulled you off the street, or is this a second one for you? Third?”

 

“I actually…just got laid off from my last job. I was a, uh, salesman.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well Tony, seems to me they made the wrong call. I’m glad you’re part of team Stark now. Keep this up and you’ll have job security, alright?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Howard disappears again, almost as soon as he’d showed up. Almost like it was just a figment of Tony’s imagination.

 

After work, Tony feels pleasantly drained. He didn’t realize that going just one day without keeping his hands busy would have that much of an effect on him, but this new project as his father’s lackey felt like a welcome weight on his chest, keeping the anxiety at bay.

 

The plan was slowly but surely coming together in Tony’s mind: get closure with his father somehow, become closer to Steve, and gain some insight into who Bucky Barnes was before he became a terminator. Simple enough, in theory. Likely to be a bit more difficult in practice.'

 

* * *

 

 

The next day was Sunday. The streets that morning were bustling with the church crowds, and the diner was fuller than Tony had seen in the past two days. He ducked into the same corner booth as before and waited. This was the only place he knew of that he could find Bucky, and as much as he didn’t like talking to him, that was his best bet at getting to Steve.

 

After five cups of coffee and two plates of pancakes, Tony started to worry that he was wasting his time. Bucky had other places to be today, for all he knew.

 

“Hey, Tony,” a familiar voice said, just as Tony was letting his mind wander off. He jerked his head up, and could feel his heart drop. Not at Bucky, who was wearing a nice suit and that same sheepish smile as yesterday, but at Steve, who was barely visible from over Bucky’s shoulder. “The diner’s pretty packed, mind if we sit here?” Tony’s mouth is dry. He gestures to the seats across from him, and the two men slide into them gratefully.

 

“Hey thanks,” Steve says, smiling at Tony now. He’s…so small. Shorter than Tony, for sure. Stick-thin. Same intelligent blue eyes though, same earnestness. “I’m Steve, nice to meet you.” He offers his hand across the table, and Tony shakes it more out of muscle memory than consciousness of the action.

 

“Tony.”

 

“So I’ve heard. Bucky says he ran into you and you’ve been giving him a look that could kill ever since,” Steve’s eyes glint with amusement, his voice teasing as he looks over at Bucky. He grunts and elbows Steve gently in the ribs.

 

“I apologized, and now we’re on such good terms that Tony’s let us sit with him. Right?”

 

Tony snorts. “Sure. You two were at mass I’m guessing?”

 

“Nah, we just got off work. We’re models, if you couldn’t tell,” Steve says immediately with a smirk. Tony almost laughs at the amount of snark that could come from such a tiny person.

 

“Be nice, Steve. I haven’t had enough coffee yet to help you out if Tony wants to kick your scrawny ass,” Bucky says, catching the waitress’s eye and waving her over. Steve looks good-naturedly indignant, scoffing.

 

“No worries,” Tony says, taking a casual sip from his coffee mug. “My policy is that you have to be at least 5’8” to qualify for an ass kicking.” Bucky laughs, and Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise.

 

The waitress comes around with coffee, smiling especially at Bucky, who smiles back. Steve rolls his eyes.

 

“Are you and Cynthia going out again or something?”

 

“Probably not, no, but I don’t see the harm in being nice,” Bucky replies.

 

“Tony, did that look like _just_ _being nice_ to you?”

 

“You gave her _the look_ ,” Tony agrees, looking over at Cynthia, a cute redhead. She’s smiling over, but her eyes are definitely on Bucky.

 

“See? Even Tony agrees. _The_ _look_.”

 

“How could you take Steve’s side over mine? I thought we had a connection, Tony.”

 

Tony feels old, sitting with two twenty-four year olds as they argue about a cute girl. He can’t stop looking at Steve, then at Bucky. At the way they interacted, teasing and smiling. He felt like an outsider.

 

“ _Enough_. Tony, let’s talk about you instead,” Bucky says, obviously looking for a change of subject.

 

“What about me?”

 

“What do you do for a living?”

 

“I just got hired by Stark Industries, actually.”

 

Bucky whistles and Steve’s eyes widen.

 

“Impressive. What are you, a genius engineer?” Tony smiles.

 

“Just a buyer for raw materials.”

 

“Still, that’s got to offer some nice benefits, right?”

 

Tony nods. “It’s decent. I think Mr. Stark likes me.”

 

“You’ve met him?” Steve sits up straighter.

 

“Yeah, he actually plucked me right off the street and hired me on the spot.”

 

“No way that’s true.”

 

“He’s an eccentric billionaire, Steve. Everything is in the realm of possibilities with him,” Tony says with certainty.

 

“You sound like you know him pretty well already, Tony,” Bucky remarks, adding sugar to his refilled coffee.

 

“We’re…similar, in a lot of ways.”

 

“You kind of _look_ like him,” Steve says, leaning forward in order to take in the details of Tony’s face.

 

“I get that a lot,” Tony replies.

 

After more lighthearted arguments and Bucky flirting with Cynthia just to annoy Steve, the three of them left the diner and walked down the sidewalk a ways.

 

“Hey, me and Steve were gonna head over to the park. Want to come with?”

 

“Maybe some other time,” Tony says, feeling drained. As much as he’s missed seeing Steve’s face, this is all too much. Baby steps.

 

“Alright,” Bucky replies casually with a half-shrug. He and Steve start walking in a different direction. Tony heads towards his hotel.

 

“See you tomorrow, Tony?”

 

Tony looks back over at them: Steve, who’s dwarfed beside his friend but projects confidence, and Bucky, who’s tall and broad-shouldered but wears a perpetually goofy smile. He smirks.

 

“Tomorrow, Barnes.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I haven't even looked at this fic in a hot minute. Might take a bit to get momentum again, but I'm not dropping this story as of yet.

The job title is mostly just words. To be completely honest, Tony’s duties seemed to change from day to day, hour to hour. Sometimes Howard sent him all across town with a laundry list of materials and tasks, other times he had him rearrange the entire garage. On this particular day, he brought Tony directly to the workshop.

 

Now that he could see the room in proper lighting, Tony’s heart squeezed in his chest. It was so very similar and yet it was foreign. Stacks of machines, blueprints taped up all over the walls, and coffee cups scattered everywhere. He really was his father’s son, and had mixed feelings about that knowledge.

 

“You’ve been keeping up well, Tony,” Howard remarks, currently crouching to rummage through his massive toolbox. “I’m impressed.”

 

“I’m good at multi-tasking,” Tony replies, jamming his hands in his pockets and approaching Howard’s latest project: a modified vehicle of some kind.

 

“Beautiful, ain’t she? This car will revolutionize travel forever, Tony. It’ll really change the game.” Howard comes over to the car, pulling on a pair of gloves. “You know why I brought you down here?”

 

“You wanted someone to show off to?”

 

Howard lets out a cackle. “You know me so well, and here I feel like you’re still a stranger. Come here, sit with me. And bring over that toolbox, while you’re at it.” He takes a greasy stool by the car, and Tony drags over a chair from one of the nearby desks.

 

“So,” Howard leans over the open hood and starts poking around the engine. “What should I know about Anthony Carbonell? Hand me that wrench.”

 

“What’s there to know?” Tony hands over the tool, watching Howard’s deft hands at work.

 

“What was your childhood like?”

 

Tony inwardly laughs, even though it’s not funny. “Not much of one, unfortunately.”

 

“You don’t say?” he replies, almost casually. Howard doesn’t seem too keen on getting into deep conversation. “What about hobbies?”

 

A shrug. Tony’s not so good at talking like this, holding so much back, reigning himself in. “I’ve been known to tinker.”

 

“Tinker?” Howard looks up, holding out the wrench. Tony nods and glances at the car, wordlessly exchanging the wrench for the correct set of pliers. “Have you ever done mechanic work?”

 

“Oh yeah, I’d say I’ve done more than my fair share.”

 

Howard raises an eyebrow. “You should’ve spoken up sooner, I might’ve made you one of my assistants.”

 

“With all due respect, I’ve seen your assistants. Not interested in having a heart attack any time soon.”

 

Howard laughs again, and Tony can’t help but stare at the way his dad smiles, eyes glinting with more happiness than he’s ever seen. How much of his soul must have died out in the ice, searching for Captain America? He looks away as he hands over a different pair of pliers.

 

“Alright, I’m intrigued. Let’s see what you’ve got, Tony.”

 

“What?”

 

“Show me what you can do. Maybe not with the car just yet, but,” he gestures around the room at all the halfway finished tech. “I’m curious, I want to see where you’re at.”

 

Tony can’t say no.

 

Half an hour later, Tony has taken apart and reassembled several different machines, and now he and Howard were sitting at a workbench, lost in new concepts as they came to them, bantering back and forth all the while. They scribble haphazardly on scratch paper.

 

“If I didn’t know any better…I’d say you’ve done more than auto repair,” Howard says after a while, holding up one of Tony’s papers to study. He looks over at Tony with a darkness to his eyes that says there’s no fooling him.

 

Tony doesn’t react, but also doesn’t try to deny it. “You’d be right.”

 

“Ha! So it _is_ true, you’re a military man, aren’t you? I knew it!” Howard looks suddenly very animated, leaning forward with interest.

 

“You’ve thought I was a military engineer this whole time?”

 

“Well, technically _ex_ -military, if you’re here working for me and not in some top-secret facility right now. And it was only one of my theories. I’ve been watching you since I hired you, and you’ve always looked like you know so much more and just keep it to yourself. But you can’t fool me, Tony.” Howard looks back down at their mismatched handwriting. “You’re _brilliant_.” Not that Tony tried very hard to hide it.

 

After a moment of stunned silence, Howard looks back up at Tony and cracks a grin. “Come on, you must get that all the time, huh?”

 

“Not since I left the…ah, military program.” That’s basically what SHIELD was, right? Tony can feel his chest start to ache familiarly. Really, he tries his hardest to tend to his own business, not think about all that he’s lost, but it always comes back around to that, doesn’t it?

 

“Well, if this math and these concepts are anything to go by, you’ve got a promising career right here with me, Tony.” Howard is still smiling, but Tony can see that he’s picked up on the sadness in his face now. “I’m going to go ahead and change your job title. You’ll be reassigned here.”

 

It’s all happened so fast, Tony feels whiplashed. Working at Howard’s side? It’s probably too good to be true, but he can’t help but reach out when someone extends an offer like this, when he’s _always_ wanted so badly to work with Howard Stark, the legend. His dad.

 

“I look forward to it, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Call me Howard.”

 

* * *

 

 

In addition to the new developments with Howard, Tony has been returning to the diner every day. Barnes almost always shows up, but their interactions vary widely from a casual wave from across the restaurant to sitting at the same table and shooting snarky, rapid-fire comments back and forth until Tony swears he’ll be late to work if he doesn’t leave.

 

He hasn’t decided yet how he feels. In his logical mind, Bucky Barnes was a nice, smart, all-around decent man who was subjected to unspeakable torture of no fault of his own and made to commit atrocities against his will. In his heart, Bucky Barnes killed his parents in cold blood, and was an irredeemable monster.

 

Steve didn’t come around nearly as often, but always made an appearance on Sundays after church. The three of them usually sat together, and Tony found he felt less anxiety about Bucky when he focused on Steve instead, oddly enough. Steve was the same as he’d always been, barring the obvious physical differences. He was constant and familiar, a comfortable old habit to fall back into.

 

And bonus: this Steve hadn’t lied to his face and broken his heart. Even better.

 

It had been a couple weeks now since Tony had come to this time, and so far the fabric of reality wasn’t tearing apart, which was a good sign. Tony himself was holding up too. As painful as this all was, it was incredibly self-indulgent to be able to have a real, tangible relationship with his dad, and to have Steve as an almost-friend again. Self-indulgence was a Tony Stark hallmark, he just hoped the self-destructive part wasn’t close behind.


	6. Chapter 6

The diner ran like clockwork. Tony’s mind, keen on details, quickly picked up on the routine. The waitresses were scheduled in a fixed pattern: what days they had the morning shift, what days they took off. Faces became familiar. Sheryl was a curvy blonde, the one who had been flirting with him when he first started coming here, Wendy was a dark haired woman with olive skin, maybe in her forties. Katherine, who was always working through the busy weekends, was apparently Cynthia’s older cousin, had the same fiery red hair and dimples.

 

Tony tried to make himself more approachable as the days progressed, smooth out the rough edges that might make people wary of him. He was aware of it, like the slow process of consciously relaxing a muscle that had been tensed into a knot for hours. He was letting a few of his defenses down, with the hope it might bring positive results. Let people in.

 

This kind of thing had never been a strong suit.

 

Another pattern he picked up on was a little more unpredictable: Bucky Barnes. As the two of them began to acquaint themselves more with one another, Tony learned about Bucky’s routine from day to day. Sometimes he had to be at the docks before the sun had risen, other times he wasn’t needed until afternoon, or in the evening. There was always some kind of work to be done there, so he never knew when he’d have time to stop by the diner. Days off were almost nonexistent out of necessity; Bucky needed to work as much as possible to pay bills and help Steve out in addition.

 

Steve, he explained, took up odd jobs around town most of the time. He didn’t have the sheer muscle mass or stamina for manual labor, which accounted for most of the available steady work. And, despite being aggressively hard-working, he was also liable to pick fights with just about anyone he didn’t agree with, which made for a volatile employee. Money was tight, Bucky said, which was something Tony would only ever understand in theory.

 

He bought himself new clothes at Bucky’s comment that the ones he always wore were an odd quality: not necessarily very different from most other people’s clothes, style-wise, but something about it was…different. He was right of course, the stitching, the fabric blend was off. Even if visually it wasn’t overtly different, there was a noticeable disparity between the quality of his clothing and those of everyone else. He wadded up his shirts and pants in his bag and traded them for more appropriate trousers and button-down cotton shirts.

 

Bucky commented on it the next day, eyes glinting in amusement as he said, “Hope you didn’t change your wardrobe on my account.”, to which Tony rolled his eyes and told him to finish his coffee cake instead of making smartass remarks.

 

Something new was visiting the diner at night. It was open 24 hours, and sometimes Tony found his way back after a long day of tearing through the workshop with Howard. Sometimes the restlessness hadn’t left him yet, and he needed a place to preoccupy his mind before he returned to the hotel room, left only with his own thoughts. Being Iron Man seemed to be the only way to fully satisfy his overactive brain, constantly reaching for new ideas, new projects.

 

Tonight he sat at his regular booth and used a napkin to wipe some oil smears off his face, ordering a burger but restraining himself from also getting coffee, which would only keep him up later. Roxanne was on shift most nights, a brunette with whiskey-colored eyes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Whenever the patrons were few and far between, she came over and made pleasant small talk. Apparently, from what Tony had gathered, Roxanne had a younger brother who worked at their dad’s body shop, but it was her who had the mind for mechanics. That commonality between them, in addition to her adorably ill-suited, thick lensed glasses, made her Tony’s favorite waitress and another reason for visiting the diner at night. Another reason, Tony figured it wouldn’t be wise to track down a bar instead. And now, yet another reason: Bucky Barnes walking through the doors. His eyes visibly light up when he sees Tony, as though someone who’s found a pleasant surprise waiting for them at the end of a long day.

 

“Hey stranger,” he says, sliding easily into the booth across from Tony, no longer feeling the need to ask permission, and Tony no longer finding himself inclined to point out that pretty much any other table was open. There was something naturally disarming about Barnes, something about his handsome face and laid back personality that got under the skin. He gently coaxed conversation to flow forth from Tony with a slow smile that barely turned up the corners of his mouth. The worst part was that it was starting to feel less like trying to relax in front of a hungry wolf, and more like easing into calm waters. Tony was getting comfortable.

 

On a level of consciousness, Tony was angry at himself for even entertaining the thought of friendship, but every other part dismissed it. Besides, he reasoned, Bucky was slowly but surely allowing Tony more private access into his life and, by extension, Steve’s life. On Sundays, and any day Steve found time to join them, the usual slow-paced conversations between Tony and Bucky became up-tempo with Steve’s extra commentary, and of catching up on a week’s worth of news between the three of them. Steve, having yet to make Howard’s acquaintance, and therefore not marking Starks as narcissistic lunatics, warmed up more easily to Tony than Captain America had to Iron Man. Different circumstances probably made a difference too, Tony mused, as did his store of knowledge on Steve and his idiosyncrasies.

 

He knew what to say that would warrant a pleased or approving reaction from Steve, experience mistaken for intuitiveness. It was pathetic how Tony found himself striving to make remarks and observations that would insight these reactions. So much time spent at his side, even more time before that spent hero-worshiping a poster on his bedroom wall and still…still all he wanted was to be Steve’s friend, someone he could look in the eye and see something trustworthy. Someone worthy.

 

Back to reality.

 

Tonight Bucky looked especially exhausted, hair and clothes disheveled from a long day at work. He smelled, from this proximity, like the spray of briny ocean water. His posture was a mixture of relaxing against the upholstery of the seat, and just not having the will to hold himself fully upright.

 

“Long day?” Tony pushes a French fry through a splotch of ketchup instead of looking directly at him. Still can’t quite relax.

 

“Understatement of the year,” Bucky replies with zero hostility. Tony probably looks close to his level of unkempt, so there’s a sense of comradery between hard workers. Bucky stretches out his arms and shifts in his seat, as Roxanne approaches with her pen and pad at the ready.

 

“I didn’t know you two were such close friends,” she remarks, smiling. It’s obvious that she’s fond of Bucky too. Tony fights off the urge to correct her, tell her that no, they aren’t close at all.

 

“We’re pals, yeah. Mostly I want an escape from the guys I’ve been hauling crates with all day. I’ll have the usual, Roxy.” Bucky punctuates his words with a wink, and hands back the menu to Roxanne almost as soon as it was offered to him. She nods and glances at Tony before disappearing into the kitchen.

 

“Pals, huh?” Tony can’t help the teasing comment, which comes out with a tone that’s not quite as joking as it was meant. It bothers him, and it’s obvious. Bucky’s eyebrows arc, but he doesn’t comment on it.

 

“So you look like you haven’t been just making purchases lately.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve actually been given a better position. I work in the workshop with Mr. Stark.” Another downward glance at a pile of half-finished French fries.

 

“I knew you weren’t just some random guy picked up off the street. But I gotta say, you must be the luckiest guy I know if you can land a job at Stark Industries and be working alongside Howard Stark himself at the end of just over two weeks.” He had a point. Tony really could only attribute his job to dumb luck. All he’d done was position himself at the place with the greatest likelihood of being noticed. The rest was a series of Howard’s famously arbitrary whims. “Or you’re just that good, in which case you’ve been holding out on me ‘n Steve.”

 

“Howard Stark is really just that unpredictable,” Tony replies dismissively. “I couldn’t do a lot more than get carried along for the ride.” Then, “We’ll see if he fires me on the spot tomorrow.”

 

“Not a lot of job security when the boss is a little crazy, huh?” Bucky was regarding Tony with tired eyes, shoulders relaxed. Roxanne returns with his usual, meatloaf and hash browns.

 

“Is there anything you really want to do?” Tony asks suddenly. “With your life. Any big dream?”

 

Bucky looks thrown off, having been used to only small talk from Tony, and having his own piercing questions dismissed when posed. He takes a moment to think.

 

“I dunno,” he begins, looking faraway for a moment. “’Guess in a perfect world, me ‘n Steve could travel. He could go to art school and run his own gallery downtown. I could own my own business, work on cars, afford a nice place for my family. We’d eat big meals every night, together.”

 

The weight of the response struck Tony. His heart ached, not expecting the earnestness to it. He recovered quickly, because of everything he’d been through. Bucky’s words provoked something honest.

 

“In a perfect world,” he repeated, into the quietness of the diner, “my dad wouldn’t have worked himself to death, and my mother wouldn’t have had to be stretched so thin. And I would’ve made them proud instead of fools.” And he wouldn’t have to be where he was now. “My friends would come together and stay together.” Everything would be okay. It would never be okay again.

 

Bucky nods, understanding in the way that anyone who’s lost someone does. Tony was noticeably older than him, there were things a 24 year old simply couldn’t have gone through yet. He looked at him with respect now. Maybe Tony had shown something on his face.

 

“Anyway,” said Tony, trying to avoid the obvious shift in the atmosphere, “I was gonna go for a walk…”

 

Bucky wiped his mouth off and quirked a particularly charming smile. “Let’s go.”

 

Roxanne was left a nice tip, and Bucky held the door open as Tony slid out into the cool night. They walked shoulder to shoulder down the street, Tony realizing he had no destination in mind.

 

“How about that park I was talking about awhile back?” Bucky offered, hunching his shoulders and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

 

“Lead the way.”

 

The meandering path took them across dark, slick pavement, almost blending into the shadows cast from the buildings surrounding them. Eventually, a patch of trees came into view.

 

“Stevie and I come here all the time,” Bucky spoke first, after a silence they’d shared on the way to the park, broken up only when he’d muttered a “turn” or “this way”.

 

“You’ve been friends for a long time,” Tony remarked, because it was obvious.

 

“As long as I can remember. He can be a real…handful sometimes. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of him, with everything I do, but I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without him.”

 

“Be bored, probably.” Tony tried to hide the knowing in his voice.

 

“Certainly have more free time.” Bucky smiles, looking out at the bushes ahead of them. “It’d drive me nuts.”

 

“You like having your hands full?”

 

“Yeah, I think it makes things easier, you know? No time to think about how things are going if you distract yourself with getting things done.”

 

“Good point.”

 

“Our childhood wasn’t…great, but we had each other. I think that’s one of the only things that kept me going.”

 

“You said he wants to have an art gallery someday?” Steve’s artistic side had all but died off when he took up the Captain America mantle, Tony certainly hadn’t seen much of it, if at all. There were some scratch paper doodles framed at the museum, but that was all there was.

 

“Not exactly. He doesn’t think he’s good enough, but I know better. He’s got the talent, no doubt about it.” Bucky sighs. “He’s not like me, I keep telling him but he won’t hear it. He’s plenty book smart, but not a working Joe.”

 

“You’ll have to talk him into showing me some of his work,” Tony says. “I’ve always had an appreciation for art.” If he was who he was in present day, Tony would’ve gone out the next day and bought an art gallery for Steve. Now all he could do was maybe encourage him.

 

Bucky laughs. “I’ll see what I can do. He’s a little shy about it.” Then, “So what was your childhood like?”

 

Tony has just been asked this by Howard not too long ago, it’s the second time anyone has ever asked him that question.

 

“It wasn’t very happy, but I had someone to look up to, and that kept me going at times.”

 

“I’m glad that you had someone. I think for me it was Steve, and for Steve…it was a sense of right and wrong. Things at home were rough, but he came out of it even more determined. I think he wants to join the military, somehow.” Exasperation. It’s the way Steve usually addressed Tony.

 

“He won’t even make it past the screening process.”

 

“I know. He won’t stop there, though.”

 

They round the park, talking about topics ranging from hobbies to music (which Tony tries to tiptoe around, remembering a handful of old musicians from his dad’s collection to pass off), casual mentions of favorite colors (Bucky’s favorite: blue, Tony’s: red), Tony briefly glancing up at the sky and pointing out some of the constellations (it was momentarily amazing to see how clear it was from the ground) and their taste in women (Tony didn’t include that he was also interested in men. Neither did Bucky).

 

It felt more intimate, somehow, than sitting in the empty diner together. Tony realized then that he hardly did this sort of thing with even Pepper or Rhodey. All of this was different than what he was used to.

 

Eventually, it got to be closer to morning than to evening, so Tony bid Bucky a good night. Or tried to.

 

“I’ll walk you back,” he offers, trying to downplay the fact that he was firmly in the role of a mom friend, thanks to Steve.

 

“I think I can manage a four block walk, thanks,” Tony replies, trying to hide the amusement in his tone, while not hiding the teasing at all. Bucky huffs and turns the other way.

 

“Tomorrow, Tony.”

 

“Tomorrow, Barnes.”

 

Something was definitely changing.


	7. Chapter 7

Howard’s extravagant monthly parties eventually figured into the constant flow of projects. Tony was good at multi-tasking, and took on several jobs at a time as soon as Howard trusted that he was capable. Today, it was going out to buy twelve cases of wine for a penthouse “get-together”, then going home early to clean up and return by nine sharp. Just a few close guests, Howard promised.

 

“It would really make me feel better if you were there,” he confesses as he walks Tony to the front doors of the building. Tony sees him tugging anxiously at his sleeves in the periphery of his vision. “I think the board of trustees will be stopping by and I’d like a buffer. I, ah, am not good with that aspect of the company. Those business types give me the creeps.”

 

Tony stops just before they reach the doors. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be there.” He can’t say it aloud, but tries to convey through his expression that he feels the same. That’s why having someone like Pepper around to take on all the business talk was truly a blessing. He gives a small wave before walking out into the blustery cold of November. Howard nods and turns away to head back into the depths of Stark industries for some meeting or other.

 

The diner was more uniformly packed now that winter was creeping in, trying to fend off the cold with warm coffee. When Tony walked in that evening, he was surprised to see Bucky and Steve had already taken up the usual booth in the back. His feet carry him over before his brain can even make the decision. Bucky scoots over without looking up from his plate.

 

Steve grins at Tony, wrapped in a beat-up jacket that fits just a little too big on him. That’s how most clothes fit Steve, though, Tony mused. “Been a while, Tony. Working on some new top secret machinery with Mr. Stark?”

 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tony replies, amused by the fact that Steve still doesn’t fully believe his job is real. “Are you two free tonight?”

 

“Who’s asking?” Bucky sounds gruffer than usual. A glance in his direction tells Tony that he’s been working especially hard, and not sleeping much.

 

“I am. How would you like to go to a real party? Fancy wine, dancing, the whole deal.”

 

Bucky perks up at this, looking over between Tony and Steve. “Really?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “You should’ve just told him he’s going and what time to be ready. Buck will dance even if his feet are bleeding from working a long shift.”

 

“Is that a no I’m hearing?” Bucky asks, eyeing Steve suspiciously.

 

“I don’t know, Buck. Maybe I’ll just stay home and—“

 

“I can’t believe you!” Bucky says, incredulous. A few patrons look over, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Steve, this is an opportunity to go to a really, really fancy party.”

 

“It sounds like a big room full of people who have nothing in common with us, and who like it that way.”

 

“It sounds like cute girls and free wine.”

 

“You aren’t exactly selling me, Buck,” he huffs.

 

Tony knows the look Steve is aiming at Bucky, he’s seen it a hundred times before: he’s digging in his heels. Bucky must see it too, because he relents and goes back to the leftover meatloaf on his plate.

 

The conversation shifts over to whatever has been happening since they were all last together. Steve briefly mentions a painting he’s working on. Tony is mildly surprised by this, not expecting Steve to ever open up about his art.

 

“It’s not anything to get worked up over,” he says quickly, cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. “It’s just a watercolor.”

 

“ _Just a watercolor_ ,” Bucky mutters mockingly, rolling his eyes. “As if just anyone could paint like that. Tony, can you just look out a window and paint exactly what you see?”

 

Tony shakes his head. “Nope. My drawing skills end at rough sketches and blueprints and go no further.” Steve tucks his chin down into the collar of his jacket.

 

“You’ll have to show me sometime, by the way.” Tony takes a sip off his coffee, watching Steve’s face for a reaction. “Bucky’s been telling me what a talented artist you are.” Bucky glances at Tony but doesn’t deny it.

 

Steve changes the subject to a new job he’ll be starting soon, but Tony doesn’t miss the slightest of smiles on his face. It’s shyer than anything Tony’s seen from Cap, who’d learned to radiate fierce confidence even in the most uncertain of times.

 

The meal ends when Tony checks his watch and realizes he needs to go back to the hotel to get ready. Bucky stops him with a gesture, then scribbles onto a napkin.

 

“Here’s my address. Even if Steve won’t join me, I’m not about to let it ruin this opportunity. What time?”

 

“Let’s say 8:30,” Tony replies as he grabs the napkin and scoots out of the booth. A strange feeling claws at the pit of his stomach as he realizes he’s just bought himself another night alone with Bucky. After the weeks spent getting to know him, Tony can rationalize that he likes Bucky, that the anxiety and dread he feels are just a kneejerk reaction. Sometimes that isn’t enough to stop himself from feeling that way anyway.

 

Tony washes up as best he can. The finished product definitely isn’t the usual Tony Stark; no polished designer suit, no wristwatch that costs more than someone’s annual salary, no perfectly groomed facial hair. It’s…just Tony, in a cheap suit.

 

To his pleasant surprise, Tony finds Steve huddled beside Bucky outside the apartment building when he arrives. Bucky grins, wearing a suit equal in quality to Tony’s, but looking young and handsome regardless. Steve’s suit is even cheaper than theirs, and hangs loosely from his shoulders. He shrugs when asked about his change of heart, claiming that he wants to see the inside of the famed Stark Industries.

 

The cab ride is quiet. Tony tries at first to make small-talk, but then it seems like wasted breath: Steve is antsy and Bucky is spaced out from his lack of sleep. They get there at nine exactly, but the party is already in full swing when they get past the extensive security. Steve gawks every time they’re stopped, when Tony’s name is indeed on the guest list, when the elevator climbs all the way up to the top of the building. He doesn’t blink when they enter the room, instead just gazes around at the opulence surrounding them. As if on cue, Howard materializes out of the crowd, a wine-induced smile plastered to his face.

 

“Tony! You made it after all, what kept you?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead looking on either side of Tony at Steve and Bucky. “Ah, and you’ve brought guests! Howard Stark, pleasure to meet you.”

 

Bucky wears an easy, winning smile as Howard shakes his hand, but Steve just stares, awe-struck when it’s his turn. Howard laughs, obviously amused.

 

“I’m Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says. “This here is Steve, which he’d tell ya if he stopped gawking long enough.”

 

“Gawk away, Steve, that’s what fabulous wealth is for. Enjoy the wine, fellas!” Howard waves and disappears back into the sea of people as quickly as he showed up.

 

Steve slowly finds his voice. “I might owe you an apology, Tony.”

 

“Water under the bridge,” Tony replies, attempting to hide his mirth.

 

Bucky somehow manages to charm his way into a large group of people almost immediately, and within twenty minutes he’s off dancing with a girl whose necklace alone could pay for a house. Steve and Tony stayed together as they drifted from group to group, making small-talk that neither of them seemed to really care about. Occasionally a smartass joke was made by one of them, and the other would catch it and try to hide a snort. Politics seemed to make Steve more talkative, and he didn’t hold back his opinions, even when some of the guests eyed him warily. Eventually, he struck up a debate with an older man and his daughter, both of whom seemed to share his views and wanted to talk further. With a glance at Tony to see if he would be okay on his own, Steve followed them to a table at the far side of the room.

 

It was jarring, to attend a party at which only a handful of people knew him. Tony walked around and went largely unnoticed, holding a glass of untouched wine. It felt unbearably lonely when he dwelt on it too much. A tap on his shoulder dragged him out of that train of thought, luckily. Howard had reemerged from the throngs of people once more, and this time he took Tony by the elbow and led him to a large circle of distinguished-looking people. Tony shook each hand in turn as they were offered to him, but another corner of the room caught his attention when one of the men started to make small talk about this or that.

 

Out on the designated dancefloor, Bucky was happily spinning a girl around to the lively rhythm of a song. The girl, Tony noted, was not the same one he’d originally left to dance with. Not only that, a small crowd had gathered to watch them and the few other pairs dancing alongside them. Tony could see why, Bucky’s smile was infectious, and his moves were the kind that were learned through years of practice. He’d easily won over half the party already.

 

When Tony returned his attention to the conversation, the man was smiling expectantly and leaning forward. “Well?”

 

Tony shook away his slight daze. “I’m sorry, come again?”

 

The topics ranged from current developments and plans to more mundane things like current projections and statistics within the company. Tony fell easily into this kind of talk, and Howard seemed grateful for it. Eventually, the board members were satisfied with the answers and dispersed to actually enjoy themselves. Howard clapped Tony on the back with a grin.

 

“Don’t know about you, but I’ll have what he’s having.” Howard gestures to Bucky, then slips away to chat up a small huddle of girls. Tony sighs and finally decides to down his wine, which is now warm from being held too long. He seeks out another glass before moving closer to the dancing.

 

Over the course of more wine and some convincing on Bucky’s part, Tony found a partner and joined in on the dancing. This part Tony could play with his eyes closed. The girl seemed happy to have a partner, and Tony appreciated the way the sounds and movement quieted his mind. This was the real allure of partying.

 

Tony caught flashes of Bucky across the dancefloor, his wide toothy smile, his grey eyes looking a glassy blue under the brightness of the lights. Tony felt a warmth in his chest and a dizziness in his head, probably the wine. He tried to focus on the girl, her blonde curls styled just so, makeup immaculate. His eyes still drifted to Bucky too often, catching the skilled movement of his feet, the way he'd lean closer to his partner when he wanted to say something to her over the music.

 

Eventually, Tony’s partner excused herself from another dance, but smiled pleasantly. Tony knew that look, it was a veiled invitation to seek her out later if he so desired. The party was quieting a little, the music changed to slow melodies. Tony grabbed another glass and headed out onto the balcony, which was empty with good reason, the night air was freezing.

 

“This is some view, huh?” Bucky joins Tony at the railing, Having followed him off the dancefloor and across the room unnoticed. He smiles as he stares out into the inky black sky.

 

It certainly isn’t the New York skyline Tony is accustomed to, but he can’t help but agree with the way the buildings gleam like stars too close to the earth.

 

“Thanks for inviting us, by the way,” Bucky says, leaning forward. Tony looks at his profile, illuminated only by the lights from the party inside. Out here feels like a separate world, muted but intimate.

 

“Glad to have someone to take with me,” he replies, looking down into his glass. The red wine is a dark purple whirlpool as he tilts it around in his hands.

 

“I’m surprised a guy like you didn’t bring a date.”

 

Tony chuckles. “You might be giving me too much credit.”

 

“Oh come on.” Bucky looks over at Tony now, still smiling, arms folded over the railing. “I just saw you switch through four different personas in there. One minute you and Stevie are being sarcastic to some rich people, then you’re schmoozing some suits that Stark introduced you to, then you’re out on the dancefloor like you don’t have a care in the world. I’m convinced you could’ve approached some broad on the street and brought her here on your arm like it was nothing.”

 

“What’s the fourth?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow. He was mildly surprised that Bucky had been keeping an eye him the entire time as he’d been dancing, but Tony reminded himself that being Steve’s friend meant Bucky had learned to keep a watchful eye.

 

“Hm?”

 

“You said you saw me switch through four personas. You only listed three just now.”

 

Bucky is quiet for a moment, seemingly to contemplate his answer. “I’m still trying to figure out the fourth. I saw it when you were wandering by yourself.” His eyebrows draw together, almost in confusion. “You looked…sad.”

 

Tony drank from his glass. “You’re observant.”

 

“Tony,” Bucky says, and the tone in his voice and the proximity of his body makes Tony suddenly uncomfortable. “I know you haven’t known me very long, but I want you to know that you can count on me. I’m not sure if I can offer you advice, but I’m a good listener.”

 

Tony glances over at Bucky again and it’s a mistake. The earnestness in his words and on his face hurt too much.

 

“Thank you,” he says, but the words sound hollow even to himself. If Bucky notices he doesn’t say anything.

 

The silence that descends on them is only a little uncomfortable. Bucky seems content to look out at the skyline, all the glittery lights in the distance, and Tony is content to steal glances at his profile set against them.


	8. Chapter 8

Once the cold had completely settled into their bones, Bucky and Tony wordlessly agreed that it was time to rejoin the party. They must have been outside longer than Tony thought, because the large crowd had now dwindled to just a few intimate groups. Both men almost immediately snapped their attention to the table where Steve had been sitting earlier. Surprisingly enough, Steve was in the same spot, but Howard had replaced the older man and his daughter, who seemed to have been amongst the guests that had already left.

 

Bucky exchanges a look with Tony, who shrugs in return. When they approach the table Howard grins at them, perhaps a little more sober than the last time Tony saw him.

 

“Tony! Buckaroo! Have a seat, I’ve just been chatting with Steve over here,” Howard gestures at Steve, who has a glass of half-empty wine in front of him, likely the only glass he’s had all night. He looks a little less petrified by Howard’s presence now, at least. Bucky sits at the table beside Steve and Tony takes the chair on the other side of Howard.

 

If Tony’s current life had been dream-like up until this moment, it takes on surrealistic proportions when he sees his father interact with the man he died trying to find. The trio get along as well as he’s seen in all the footage of them together. It’s morbidly fascinating, but it also makes Tony feel a little sick to watch Bucky laugh at Howard’s jokes and Howard to flash a smile back at him. He hears his father’s much older voice in the back of his mind:

 

“ _Sergeant Barnes_?”

 

Howard had known Bucky. They were friends. The last thing he saw was a face he’d trusted once, someone he’d mourned. Tony clears his throat and excuses himself to get one more glass of wine. It’s mostly just an excuse to step away for a moment.

 

Tony reaches the table lined with glasses and takes one, then glances back. The three men are all smiling, none of them seeming to notice Tony’s discomfort. He stands there a while longer, taking small sips of the wine, tries to remember the breathing exercises that Sam had once recommended he try.

 

Eventually, Tony calms himself enough to tolerate their company again. He slips back into his chair and tries his best to passively observe the dynamic between the trio.

 

Steve is toeing the line right between joking and insulting, which earns him the occasional weary look from Bucky and a peel of laughter from Howard. Bucky is laid back and encouraging in places where Steve is a hesitant. He brings up Steve’s artistic skill casually, but it’s apparent to Tony that he likes to tell people about Steve’s talents. Howard, much like Tony, is drawn in immediately. Steve shoots Bucky an embarrassed glare.

 

 “So you must like art then, right Rogers? You’ve gotta see this new gallery! It opens next Friday.” Howard doesn’t pay any mind to Steve’s objections, just pats around his suit jacket for a pen before scribbling across a scrap of paper he finds. “I was actually kind of not looking forward to going, but if you’re there it’s bound to be interesting.”

 

Bucky smiles smugly as Steve reluctantly takes the piece of paper when it’s pushed at him. “Are you sure it’s okay to just bring along people along to fancy galleries like this?” Steve asks, studying the address which is no doubt in a very, very nice part of the city.

 

“Who’s going to stop me? I’m Howard Stark. If anyone says anything I’ll just buy the place,” Howard replies with a laugh. “It goes without saying that my invitation extends to the two of you, if you’re interested.”

 

“I might be able to stop by a little late,” Bucky says, after slight consideration. “Tony?”

 

They all look at Tony expectantly, the first real attention they’ve paid him since they got swept up in conversation.

 

“Sure, as long as the boss lets me go on time,” he manages, smirking at Howard.

 

“No promises, but your chances are improved considering I have to be there too.” Howard seems happy just to have people to tag along with him. Sometimes the similarities between him and Tony were glaringly obvious.

 

The party officially ends at midnight. Tony hails a cab for the trip back to Bucky’s apartment, and this time he can’t shut either of his companions up. Bucky must be exhausted from working such long shifts lately in addition to all the dancing he’s done, but he’s in good spirits when Tony drops him and Steve off outside the building.

 

“Thanks again for showing us such a good time, Tony,” he says, smiling. Tony can’t help but return the smile, even if it’s not quite as wide.

 

“See you around, Barnes. Steve,” Tony says, waving at each man in turn. He gets back in the cab and returns to his small, empty hotel room.

 

* * *

 

 

In a surprising turn of events, it’s Steve that Tony sees at the diner throughout the following week. It’s a welcome break from the intense cocktail of emotions that Bucky incites in him. Steve is familiar territory.

 

“My new job is mostly noon to night, so I have the luxury of free time in the mornings,” he explains. Tony notices that Steve only bought himself a cup of coffee so he “accidentally” orders too much eggs and bacon for himself. They share the plate between them.

 

“Good to know, now you can bring some of your drawings with you tomorrow,” Tony replies matter-of-factly.

 

Steve nods. “I get the feeling you’ll never leave me alone if I don’t.”

 

“You’d be correct.”

 

“Just don’t feel like you’ve gotta compliment or encourage me, okay? I already know that the whole art career thing isn’t going to happen for me.” He says it plainly, without self-pity. Tony frowns.

 

“You never know. Maybe there will be some connoisseurs there that Howard can introduce you to at the gallery.” Steve looks doubtful, and there’s nothing else Tony can say to assure him. He’s in no position to make grand gestures like buying Steve his own studio, paying his tuition into art school, or having his art hung at every museum and gallery. He’s just a man with a tentative connection to Howard Stark, and that was all he could offer.

 

The next day Steve brings a thick journal with him, well-loved from years of use. Tony doesn’t quite know what to expect, but it isn’t anything like what he sees when he flips through the pages. Steve watches him with a guarded expression.

 

Some of them were simple pencil sketches, crammed together until there was no free space left on the page. Others take up an entire page on their own, like a portrait of the park Bucky and Steve frequented, or a view of buildings from a window, or the yellow-golden glow of Howard’s party. Tony was quiet as he examined each page. Every piece was so thoughtful, every detail and stroke placed with a purpose. The colors ranged from muted and sad to bright and saturated.

 

“Steve,” Tony says, after finally finding his voice, “you need to bring these to the gallery.”  Steve looked startled by the sincerity in his voice.

 

“You think so?”

 

“Definitely.” Tony paused a moment. “What do you have to lose?”

 

He watched Steve stare down at the book, opened to the last finished page. He’d remembered enough of Howard’s party to recreate it almost perfectly. After a moment he closed the journal and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

 

For the first time since he’d arrived, Tony thought of the phone call. It had been so long now that it felt like a distant memory. Somehow, sitting here with Steve dragged it back into his mind as if it was happening again right now, the cell phone clenched in his fist, Steve’s voice sounding so sorry, but not sorry enough.

 

“Tony, you alright?”

 

“Fine. I should get going.”

 

* * *

 

 

The gallery was indeed fancy. Nothing Tony hadn’t been through a hundred times before, but also something he hadn’t done in a while. The crowd here did in fact make Howard’s party look like a small gathering. Amidst the sea of people milling around with champagne in their hands, Tony saw the paintings hanging in all their splendor. Each frame was simple, designed to keep the viewer focused on the work itself.

 

Howard, who seemed to have a talent for homing in on Tony, appeared beside him while he was admiring a particularly attractive piece.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

“I am, actually,” Tony replies, thinking of how the painting would look in his own home. Each one must cost a fortune in present day.

 

“Steve’s already here,” Howard mentions, glancing back over his shoulder. This gets Tony’s attention, and he follows Howard’s line of sight to Steve, wearing the same suit he wore to the party, surrounded by important-looking people.

 

“Did he—is he?” Tony could see from this distance that Steve did indeed have his journal tucked under one arm, but that didn’t change the slight disbelief he felt.

 

“Apparently you helped convinced him,” Howard says with a smile. “All I had to do was walk him over to the right people--don’t look so worried, they’re a little snobby but I think they’re really impressed with him.” If Tony looked worried, he hadn’t been aware of it.

 

“You think anything will come of it?”

 

“Fingers crossed. The kid’s talented.”

 

“No kidding.”

 

Bucky showed up later, as promised. He found Tony and Howard first, but as soon as they explained the situation he was over at Steve’s side in an instant. Tony thought perhaps this was a bit overprotective, but Steve looked relieved and glad to see his friend. Eventually, they excused themselves from the group of distinguished men and women and shook each of their hands before rejoining Tony and Howard. Steve was wearing a look of thinly-veiled excitement.

 

“I’m not going to jinx this by saying thank you yet,” Steve says, clutching his journal tightly, “but they say that I’m promising.”

 

“What we’ve been telling him this whole time, but it suddenly means something when a bald guy with a PhD says it,” Bucky retorts, clapping Steve on the back. Steve elbows him halfheartedly.

 

“Keep your mouth shut, or he’s going to hear you.”

 

“Steve got invited to visit Saint Francis university next month,” Bucky grins, obviously unafraid of jinxing Steve’s good fortune with his pride.

 

Howard grins too. “See? What did I say? Nothing to worry about. When you’ve got real talent, things will fall into place if you give it time.”

 

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says with a soft smile that Tony’s seen a few times before. “I might not have brought these with me if it weren’t for you and Bucky always encouraging me.”

 

“Anytime, Steve.” He wants to ham it up, make a big speech in the middle of this crowd about how he knew that things would come together for Steve, about how proud he is, but that’s too much like Tony Stark and not at all like Anthony Carbonell. Besides, that smile has twisted Tony’s heart a little too hard for more words.

 

After the gallery closes, Howard demands to give them all rides home. Steve’s is the first stop, and they idle for a minute to watch him disappear into his house. Tony feels a bit of unease at the thought of anyone knowing he’s living out of a hotel, so he gets out when they stop at Bucky’s apartment building.

 

“You sure?” Howard asks, leaning on his steering wheel and eyeing Tony as he steps out. “I’m more than happy to take you all the way to your place.”

 

“I, ah, wanted to talk to Barnes for a minute. And it’s okay, my place isn’t too far from here.”

 

Howard shrugs. “Suit yourself. See you Monday!” He speeds off, barely waiting for Tony to shut the passenger door. Tony watches the car disappear around a street corner before he turns back to see that Bucky is waiting on the front steps.

 

“Wanna come up for some coffee?” he asks. If this was any other situation with any other person, Tony would take it as an invitation for a sleepover. Since that obviously wasn’t the case here, he wordlessly followed Bucky inside.

 

The apartment was predictably small. The kitchen consisted of one wall to the right of the front door with a sink, oven and fridge, and a tiny two-person table against the wall to the left. A bare living room greeted them when they walked further into the room, occupied only by an old couch and a coffee table. To one corner was a bed, pushed up against the wall, in the other was a door that presumably led to a bathroom.

 

“Make yourself at home, I’ll go put the coffee on,” Bucky says casually, side-stepping any commentary that Tony might make about his living arrangement, not that Tony would comment anyway. Tony is about sit on the couch when he notices the single framed hanging on the wall by Bucky’s bed. Upon closer inspection, it’s a small painting of the Brooklyn skyline. Steve’s signature is scribbled into the bottom right corner.

 

“I’m still in shock,” Bucky starts as he walks back over to Tony. “I really didn’t think just putting Steve in the same room as those people would suddenly give him this much opportunity.”

 

“It’s called privilege for a reason,” Tony replies, looking back at Bucky. “People in positions of wealth just have more connections and more chances to do what they want.”

 

Bucky just sighs and nods his head. “I don’t really know how he’s gonna mix with these high society types, but if anyone has what it takes to succeed, it’s him.”

 

“He’ll be fine,” Tony agrees. “Steve can make it through anything.”

 

They sit at Bucky’s tiny kitchen table to drink the coffee. It’s a welcome warmth compared to the harsh chill outside.

 

“What about you?”

 

Bucky looks a little startled. “What?”

 

“You seem so caught up in Steve’s success. What about you?”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m fine, I’m where I should be. I’m not as book smart as Stevie.”

 

Tony furrows his brows. “Even if that’s true, what makes you think that working crazy hours at the docks is where you should be?”

 

“It’s a decent job,” Bucky says, and almost sounds convincing. “It makes ends meet.” He leaves out working his fingers to the bone day in and day out, skipping meals to make even the slightest bit more money, shouldering back-to-back shifts just to afford rent. Tony wants to tell him to make the most of his promise now, before it’s stolen from him.

 

“You like cars, right?” Tony asks, remembering one of their conversations. It’s more to himself than anything, it’s Tony deciding how he can help Bucky now that Steve is on a better course.

 

“Yeah, I worked at a body shop for a while, but they downsized and had to let me go.” Bucky looks wistful, hand tilting his coffee mug from side to side.

 

Tony quickly steers the conversation back to safer waters, like the way Steve looked at the gallery, surrounded by distinguished older people. He looked so young, so full of hope. Both Tony and Bucky seemed happy to see him like that.

 

“We should find him a better suit,” Bucky says, shaking his head despite his fond smile. “That’s the suit he wears for everything, and it’s never fit right since he's owned it. I know it’s hard to find one that slim, and short, but if he’s gonna be all high society, he’ll need one that reflects that.”

 

“I agree,” Tony says, without hesitation. “We’ll burn the old one when we can find something better.”

 

“You really like working for Howard, huh?” Bucky says, abruptly. “I can’t blame you, he’s a great guy. Little intimidating, at first, but he’s not at all how I expected him. He’s so…”

 

“Manic? Eccentric? Generous?” Tony is being charitable with his adjectives. "Erratic?

 

“Genuine.” Bucky says it like he’s contemplated this for a while, and is puzzled by his own conclusion. “He looks you in the eye and you feel like he really cares about meeting you, and talking to you, like he values the time you spend interacting with him. I didn’t really expect such a busy, rich guy like him to look at me or Steve like that.”

 

Tony nods. There’s a reason that Howard was so beloved, so successful. It wasn’t brains alone, it was the charisma, the heart and soul he devoted to his company and to all people involved with it. It was only his family who had suffered from the subsequent neglect.

 

“’Course, it’s strange that I would ever even meet Mr. Stark, much less be on a first-name basis. Or have been to his house. It’s strange that it’s all because I bumped into you at the diner one day and decided not to leave you alone.” Bucky's fond smile from before is now pointed at Tony.

 

“Do you put much stock into fate, or destiny?” Tony asks slowly, diverting his eyes down into his coffee.

 

Bucky pauses a moment but then shrugs. “Not really, I guess. You?”

 

“These days, I’m starting to.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, sorta! Happy week before we all die in Infinity War!

Tony was fantastic at fucking things up. Really, it was one of his foremost talents. Fixing things? A close runner up in his opinion. Admittedly, being able to clean up after his own messes was his saving grace, the only reason anyone could stand to be around him. Fixing problems for other people was a touchy area, somewhere he was hesitant to tread because it often blew up in his face. Exhibit A: The Avengers.

 

Having nothing to lose meant that Tony was willing to try more things that he typically wouldn’t, which meant that he was going to meddle with Steve and Bucky’s lives as much as he wanted to, with the desperate hope that it might somehow save them from all the trauma that was in store for them, or at the very least add some joy to their remaining days as civilians. Already he had set the stage for Steve’s artistic success, so now it was time to turn his attention to Bucky, who was so quietly resigned to the life of a man doing back-breaking labor for bare minimum wages.

 

Tony started off subtly enough, dropping hints around Howard while they were in the workshop together. Howard, in this situation, would work as an extension of Tony, who couldn’t freely give away opportunities in his current position. He knew that if properly directed, Howard would be more than willing to facilitate Bucky’s own aspirations.

 

From Steve, Tony gleaned that Bucky was much more skilled with cars and machines than he let on, more of a hands-on mechanic than a theoretical engineer, but that was more than enough to work with. Howard was always looking for an extra set of competent hands to help with boring menial tasks around the workshop, or so he said, and so Tony really didn’t need to do much more than mention Bucky’s love of cars for him to make an offer.

 

Tony was sitting in the diner when the loud slap of paper against the tabletop startled him out of his thoughts.

 

“I just got back from Stark Industries,” Bucky says. He doesn’t quite look _angry_ , but his expression is intense and his shoulders are rigid, like he’s still deciding if he’s upset or not. The papers he’s thrown down on the table are printed on the official SI stationary. “Have a feeling you had something to do with that.”

 

“Job interview?” Tony asks, feigning innocence. “How’d it go?”

 

“Can it, punk,” Bucky says, sitting down across from Tony with his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you said to him, but now Howard’s all over my ass about saying something earlier, that the job’s as good as mine if my references check out.”

 

Tony shrugs. “So what’s the problem?”

 

“I don’t like being handed things,” Bucky says, frowning. “I like feeling like I’ve actually earned it.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Tony asks, now genuinely confused. “Of course you’ve earned it.” Bucky is undoubtedly one of the most hard working people Tony has ever met, and he’s earned this job one thousand times over with the countless hours he’s spent working for the bare minimum, putting all the people in his life before himself without a second thought. There’s no one out there more deserving of this opportunity in Tony’s eyes.

 

Bucky’s brow furrows, and he looks down at the papers, eyes settled on the logo of Stark Industries printed at the top. “I just can’t help but feel like there’s someone out there who’s more qualified, or who’s worked harder for this kind of position. I don’t want to get this job just ‘cause I’m friends with the CEO.”

 

“I took the liberty of looking into your credentials myself,” Tony says, “and trust me, you’re qualified. Howard wouldn’t want you in his workshop unless you knew your way around machines, trust me. He doesn’t offer jobs to friends if they have no business being there. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with having connections.”

 

Bucky absently pushes the papers around on the table, then sighs and finally meets Tony’s eyes again. “I don’t think anyone’s ever done something like this for me before. I’m used to being the one who helps someone get hired, or whatever else they might need. It’s different having someone looking out for you. Thank you.”

 

Tony smiles, _genuinely_ smiles, because he sometimes forgets how much joy he gets from helping people. He realizes something else in that moment: somewhere along the way, he’d started actually _liking_ Bucky. He wasn’t just a means to get to Steve anymore, or even a way to try and humanize the Winter Soldier, he was just Bucky; honest, noble, hard-working, and selfless. Looking back on it, Tony was doomed from the start, how could he talk to Bucky every day and not fall prey to his bright eyes and charming Brooklynn accent? It was enough to make him think he could find room in his heart for forgiveness someday, for the present-day Bucky. In this moment, in his own smile, Tony found a glimmer of hope for the future.

 

“No need for thank yous,” he says dismissively. “Are you thinking about taking the job?”

 

“I’m considering,” Bucky replies. Tony admires the profound sense of pride Bucky must have to only _consider_ a job that could change his entire life for the better.

 

“I really hope you take it,” Tony says. “Even if you still think it’s a hand out. Because I really can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you, pal.”

 

It’s Bucky’s turn to smile now. “Does this mean you’re finally ready to admit it, then? That we’re _pals_?” he asks teasingly.

 

“I guess I have to now, don’t I?” Tony replies, feigning frustration. “Your charms were just too much for me, Barnes.”

 

“They always are,” Bucky says knowingly, leaning back in his seat with a smug look. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”

 

Tony can’t argue with that.

 

* * *

 

 

Speaking of which, Tony should’ve known that it was _only a matter of time_ before something went horribly wrong.

 

He’s been checking his watch every day to ensure that it still works properly, but this morning he finds that the power cell is depleting at an abnormal rate. Tony calculates that he’ll be dead in the water, so to speak, in less than two weeks; stranded in 1940 with no way back. Trying not to _completely_ lose it, Tony breathes slowly for several minutes before starting to decide on a plan of action.

 

Realistically, it’s already been nearly a month and a half. Tony isn’t really sure how much time he was really planning on spending here, but it probably wasn’t this long. He’s now faced with two options: wrap things up, or try to prolong his time here by attempting to fix the watch. Should he try the second option, he’d be met with several obstacles, primarily the fact that he’d need to get his hands on some of Howard’s tools to get started, and secondly that his efforts might either not work or render the device completely incapable of returning Tony to the proper timeline.

 

Ultimately, Tony realizes that he should bring his adventures in the past to an end and return to the present. In two months’ time there are bound to be many, many things waiting to be dealt with, in addition to the things that were left undone when Tony had left in the first place. And besides, Pepper would never, ever forgive Tony if he just disappeared one day and never returned. Hell, he didn’t think he’d forgive _himself_ if that happened.

 

The question now was when to leave. Should it be now, abruptly, without a goodbye, or later, after Tony got proper closure? He already knew the answer.

 

The rest of the day progressed normally, or as normally as it could when Howard was in charge. The two of them kept up their usual banter, firing off jokes back and forth as they worked seamlessly on Howard’s flying car. They talked about Bucky briefly, about whether or not they thought he would accept the job. So far they had heard nothing from him either way. Tony was almost sure that Bucky would say yes, he just needed a little more time to think.

 

Now with the knowledge of exactly how much time he had left, Tony felt more attuned to the daily routine between him and his father. It was especially bittersweet to think that their time together was ending, but at least Tony finally had some happy memories to look back on, of the way Howard danced around absently to music while he worked, his inability to remember to feed himself, the way he smiled at Tony when he particularly liked an idea or a joke. The two of them were definitely different, but also more alike than Tony had ever realized. Bucky would have a promising career with Howard, the two of them got along famously and Tony had no doubts that Bucky’s work ethic would earn him better positions over time. He had a real future here, just like Steve and his promising art career.

 

There really isn’t much more Tony can do for them now, other than prolong his inevitable exit from their lives. He tries to make the most of the time he has left without withdrawing himself, tries to take in the sound of Steve’s laugh, the glint of Bucky’s eyes. He doesn’t want to let go, he feels like he’s just got his friend back, that he has the relationship with his father that he’s always wanted, but being happy with Steve and Howard have just reawakened a need to make things right with the _real_ Cap, and whatever else that’s gone wrong in the world while he was away. And maybe the present needed Iron Man just as much as he needed to be there with it, too.

 

The battery is already at 25% by the end of the first week. Tony knows he needs to finally leave, but every time he opens his mouth to say goodbye, something else comes out instead. The impending threat of dragging his feet and being permanently stuck here is eventually enough for him to speak up, and he does so in the middle of a conversation with Howard as they leave Stark Industries for the day.

 

“Howard,” he begins, feeling his chest tightening up, “I need to tell you—“

 

“You’re leaving,” Howard replies matter-of-factly. They’re standing out on the sidewalk together, Howard’s back to the setting sun, framed there like a portrait. He’s gazing off at nothing in particular, the Stark hallmark for not being good with emotions.

 

“How did you know?” Tony’s voice is quiet. He sounds young, like a little kid trying to figure out how an adult managed to pull a quarter out of their ear.

 

“You seem to think I don’t notice the little things because, well, I tend to be all over the place when I’m working,” Howard moves his eyes back to Tony, and he smiles with a certain degree of sadness etched into his features. “But I _do_ notice. You’ve been quieter lately, like you’re observing more than interacting. I catch you on lunch breaks staring at the wall. I knew you must’ve been working up to giving me bad news, and I guessed that leaving was the most likely.” He sighs, looking much older than he is now, tired. “I was right.” There’s no self-satisfaction in this statement.

 

Tony is quiet for a moment, thinking of what he should say. “I came here at a time when I was in a really dark place. My work was going nowhere, my life was in _ruins_ …I was hoping I’d find something here that would let me go back and start again.” He’s not good at admitting the shortcomings of his life, or anything too heavy really, but the two of them are alone here in this moment, deceptively peaceful, so the words come easily.

 

“And did you?” Howard asks. “Find what you were looking for, I mean.”

 

“I think so.” Tony doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t really know what he was looking for when he came here, so who could really say if he found it? In the end, all he could hope was that the memories he’d made and the ones that came flooding back to him while he was here would make him strong enough to face what was waiting for him at the other end of the cell phone in his dresser when he got home.

 

“Then it was all worthwhile,” Howard says, nodding. “I’m glad I could be of help, if I _was_ of help, that is. If I was nothing but a nuisance then you don’t have to thank me.”

 

“No,” Tony says, shaking his head, “You definitely helped. Thank you.”

 

“In that case,” Howard replies, slowly returning to his usual bravado, “you’re very welcome.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Since saying goodbye to Howard went so smoothly, Tony suspected that telling Steve and Bucky the news might be a bit trickier. Steve was one hell of a fighter, ready to argue every step of the way, and Bucky was just _Bucky_. The sad eyes would not make this easy on Tony.

 

The three of them are in Bucky’s apartment that night instead of the diner for a change, playing records while Bucky cooks and Steve talks at length about how completely incredible Saint Francis is. Tony is sitting and listening to the other two men talk back and forth, playfully arguing, and basks in the domesticity of it all. Bucky is about to start at Stark Industries, which is something that both Steve and Tony are very happy about. It’s simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking to see that Steve is just as excited and happy for his friend’s success as Bucky is for his.

 

“You’ve been quiet, Tony,” Bucky remarks as he turns off the stove. He wipes his hands off on a random dish towel before walking over and dropping himself into a chair to one side of the couch.

 

“You have,” Steve agrees, turning his attention to Tony, “it’s suspicious.”

 

Tony shifts in place while the two men watch him, both of them trying to get the truth out of him with looks alone. “I have something to tell you,” he admits, his voice feeling thick. “I’ve wanted to tell you over the last few days but I kept losing the nerve.”

 

“What is it?” Steve asks. The last shred of good humor from before has left his eyes, replaced by dread as he senses the bad news that’s coming.

 

“I have to leave,” Tony says, ripping the figurative Band-Aid off rather than drawing this out any longer than necessary. “Tomorrow. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky repeats, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Leaving? Like, permanently leaving?”

 

“Why?” Steve asks immediately. “And where are you going to?”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Buck says, trying to reign his friend in so that Tony can have a chance to explain himself.

 

“I don’t have any easy answers,” Tony says. “I can’t really tell you where I’m going, or why, specifically, but it’s permanent. I have somewhere I need to be right now, and I really can’t justify staying here anymore. At this point it’s selfish.” He adds this because he wants them both to know that this is duty calling, not that he wants to bail on them. He wants them to know that they mean something to him. "I have promises to keep."

 

“So that’s it?” Steve asks, not quite angry, but close enough. “You’re just going to leave forever? We’ll never see you again?”

 

“Just call me Mary Poppins,” Tony says humorlessly with a shrug. “I come into your life, change it for the better, and then I’m gone.”

 

“Were you planning on telling us at all?” Steve’s voice has less bite to it now, more flat and sad than anything. “Or were you hoping that we’d just let you slip away without a goodbye?”

 

“I was going to tell you tonight,” Tony replies immediately. “I just seem to always have the worst timing when it comes to these things.”

 

“How many times exactly have you done something like this?” Steve asks, raising a brow.

 

“Which part? Permanently messing up relationships with the people I care about, letting my emotional distancing get the better of me, or walking out of people’s lives specifically?”

 

“You haven’t messed up anything,” Bucky says, and yep, there they are, the sad eyes. “We just don’t want you to go. And, ya know, this is all really sudden. We thought we’d have more time.”

 

“Me too,” Tony replies, tone apologetic. This is definitely so much worse than his goodbye to Howard. With Howard, there was an understanding that went beyond all the words and touchy-feely stuff that allowed them to say what they needed to say, and part ways. There were no protocol when it came to Steve and Bucky, they just came at you with all their emotions flaring. “But look at you both now. You’re on your way to doing great things on your own, and you’ve always got each other.”

 

“Yeah, but we like having you around too, Tony,” Steve says. “You’re our friend.”

 

“And you’re mine,” Tony says quietly. “That’s why I have to do this.” With this comment, directed mostly to himself, Tony is reassured that this is the right thing to do.

 

The rest of the night is bittersweet. The three men make an honest effort to have as good a time as possible, drinking and eating and playing cards. At one point, they all dance clumsily to a record that Tony could swear is one of his dad’s favorites, but he has no idea what the name of it is. At the end of the night, Steve is dead asleep on the couch, and Bucky insists on walking Tony out of the apartment building, at least.

 

“So this is it, huh?” He asks, his voice lower than usual because it’s very late and people are sleeping. “You’re gone tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony replies. They get out the front door and stand there shoulder-to-shoulder as they face into the biting wind. “I really do wish I could stay longer.” He wishes for a lot of things, most of all that someone as good as Bucky Barnes could find happiness in this life. Wishes didn't mean all that much, but it was a platitude that Tony leaned on a lot when it came to messy emotional issues.

 

“You won’t forget about me, will ya?” Bucky asks, giving Tony a fond sideways look.

 

“Forget about _you_?” Tony asks, feeling that same fondness deep in his chest. “Impossible.”

 

“I won’t either,” Bucky promises. “I think you’ll always stick out in my mind. There’s something about you…” His eyes glint with something meaningful, perhaps some unexplored facet of their relationship that will never _be_ explored. “Something magnetic.”

 

“It’s too late to fall in love with me, Barnes, so don’t get any ideas,” Tony replies wryly. In truth, Bucky Barnes is exactly the type of man who could make Tony do some very stupid, reckless things, but the timing is off, the circumstances unfortunate. It’s just a thought, something to joke about.

 

Bucky cracks a grin and playfully pushes at Tony’s arm. “Better get out of here before I do, punk.”

 

So Tony does. He walks down the sidewalk with his head down to shield his face from the wind, already dreading all that awaits him tomorrow. When he glances back at the apartment building, he can still see Bucky standing there, looking just a little bit lost.

 

 _I’ll find you_ , Tony thinks to himself _. I’ll find you and we’ll make this right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I sort of radically changed the direction of this fic after thinking about it over the past couple months. I decided that I have a lot of stuff planned to get through in the present and I felt that Tony was at a place in his emotional journey that he was ready to face the music. I honestly don't know when the next update will be but considering how close we are to another big Marvel movie, I'll probably have my mojo back for a while so we'll kinda just see what happens lol


	10. Chapter 10

The trip forward in time was just as unpleasant as it was backwards. After floating through the same painful, blinding light for some unspecified amount of time, Tony stumbled gracelessly back into the familiar disarray of his own lab, and then doubled over on the floor as the wave of nausea took hold. He needed to figure out a way to get rid of that nasty side effect moving forward.

 

Miraculously, Tony didn’t lose consciousness this time around. That was a positive. What _wasn’t_ a positive was the indistinct shout that came from across the room as soon as he’d appeared. In his current state, Tony wasn’t even sure he could form words, much less stand up. If some hostile had come to kill him, there was no way he’d be able to defend himself. Tony straightened up as much as he could, still on his knees, and opened his eyes to see who it was. There, clutching a handful of papers and staring wide-eyed by the work bench was Pepper.

 

“Tony!” she exclaimed, then hurried over to him with the steady _tap tap tap_ of her heels against the polished concrete. For the moment she looked concerned, but Tony knew better. As soon as she was within arms’ reach, Pepper crouched down and smacked him firmly upside the head.

 

“Ow! _Shit_ Peps—” Tony groaned, feeling his headache worsening by the second. “Mind laying off the punishments until I can at least stand upright?”

 

“I’m _sorry_! But what—how— _where_ were you?!” she demands, unable to get a handle on her volume as she tends to do when truly worked up. “It’s been months, Tony! _Months_ , and you’ve been completely off the grid. Do you know how impossible it is to report you missing when you could literally be in any part of the world on some kind of covert mission?”

 

The note. Hadn’t he left a note? Tony glanced over where he could’ve sworn he’d left it, only to find that it had been blown off the work bench by a draft from the air vents above it, the page left curled in on itself underneath and out of sight. Great. He knew he should’ve put a paperweight on top to hold it down. Pepper had probably pried her way in here weeks ago and not had a clue where he was or what had happened to him all this time.

 

Tony takes a deep breath in and feels himself relaxing infinitesimally. Despite Pepper’s harsh tone, it was nice to know that he’d worried someone this much with his absence, and her reprimands were almost comfortingly familiar. He kind of wished it had been someone else who’d found him, though; it seemed like Pepper was forever cursed to deal with the brunt of his bull shit. She would probably die tragically young from all the stress he caused her. No wonder they’d broken up; it was a miracle they were even still friends.

 

“It’s a long story,” Tony manages to say. Words are still forming thickly in his mouth, like he’s trying to spit out a mouthful of molasses, and the pain in his head is making it hard to concentrate. He must look even worse than he sounds, because Pepper doesn’t push it for the moment. Instead, she helps him to his feet and across the room to the elevator, and then up to the penthouse after that.

 

When Tony is finally deposited safely on the couch in his ostentatious living room, Pepper disappears in the direction of the kitchen and returns a moment later with a glass of water in one hand and two Tylenol in the other. She perches elegantly on the armrest and watches as Tony tosses the pills back and then drains the entire glass.

 

“Okay, I want to hear it from the beginning,” she says, not unkindly, and much calmer than before. Tony feels even guiltier now, because it took a _lot_ of worry to outweigh the anger and frustration Pepper was caused by his stupid decisions.

 

Tony proceeded to tell her about the call from Cap, building the time machine, the experience of getting to know Steve, Howard and Bucky in their prime, everything in as much detail as he could manage. Pepper sat there and stared at him the entire time, then sighed long and hard when he finally finished.

 

“I don’t know why I should be surprised anymore. I don’t know why anything you say or do still has any effect on me at all, I should be desensitized by now,” she says. “I really don’t know what to say, Tony.”

 

“Neither do I,” he replies, setting the empty glass on his coffee table, “but I know that I need to sort out my mess. I’m ready.”

 

“That’s all well and good,” Pepper says, sounding a bit apprehensive, “but I hope you know that you have a lot of cleaning up to do here before you can even _think_ about your superhero agenda.”

 

“I know,” Tony replies ruefully, feeling his shoulders slump under the weight of his exhaustion. “I’ll call a press meeting for damage control tomorrow. Have PR write me up a neat little soundbite.”

 

“You’ve got it,” Pepper replies with a nod. This is familiar territory: him messing up and her cleaning up after him. “Anything else?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, glancing around the room. “We’re downsizing. I think it’s time we put the tower up for sale.”

 

Pepper raises a brow at this. “This is a little abrupt. Are you sure?”

 

“We’ve talked about it before: past events have shown us that this thing is a disaster-magnet, and two Avengers headquarters is a little gratuitous at this point. We’ll auction some things off, relocate the rest to the compound. Put Happy in charge of the project, it’ll make him feel important.”

 

“Fine,” Pepper replies, then checks her watch and stands back up. “Now that I don’t need to keep worrying about whether you’re dead or alive, I think I can actually make this board meeting. I’ll be in touch.” She almost makes to leave, then turns quickly back around to press a fierce but loving kiss to Tony’s temple. “Get some sleep, you look like hell.”

 

He was a very, very lucky man.

 

* * *

 

 

After a bit of research, Tony concluded that he had tapped into an alternate timeline, or at least that was his running theory with the very limited information he had so far.

 

Whatever timeline he’d dipped into would absorb whatever changes he’d managed to make, would be forever changed and Tony wouldn’t be around to know for sure. He wasn’t even sure if he’d still be born, down the line, if Howard would marry Maria and name their child after a bizarre and mysterious man he knew briefly, before the war. Who could say?

 

It was more than a little anticlimactic, and felt to Tony a little like a “get out of jail free” card. A cop out. Once again, he’d escaped accountability for his actions. He tried not to dwell on a parallel Steve and Bucky, who each remembered little snatches of a man who danced with them in Bucky’s one-room apartment, who quietly encouraged Steve’s art career, who sometimes cracked smart-mouthed remarks that won him bursts of surprised laughter. Whose eyes spoke of so much more than he ever said with words, and whose clothes were just a little different than everyone else’s. He tried not to think of a parallel when all the same terrible things came to pass, and his presence in their lives had left only the barest of impacts. Tony checked the historical records and confirmed that nothing here had changed. Steve was still Captain America, Bucky was still the Winter Soldier, and Howard had still been killed on that empty road in 1991. It was both a relief and a disappointment to learn this.

 

He had a lot more research left to do in order to properly understand time travel of course, and he promised himself that he’d return to this project. Someday. Right now though, he had more important things to focus on in the present. Cleaning up after himself took time away from what Tony really wanted to do, which was work himself up to making a long overdue phone-call. Even when the dust had finally settled and he was set up at the compound with Rhodey, Tony still paced back and forth anxiously across his new bedroom and cursed under his breath as he did so, the flip phone clutched tightly in his fist.

 

“A _flip phone_ ,” Tony mutters in exasperation, shaking his head in disapproval. Steve was criminally old-fashioned sometimes.

 

Tony stops cold in the center of the room, slides his thumb between the screen and the receiver, and snaps the device open in one practiced movement. How could you want to do something so badly, yet rather die than actually follow through with it?

 

There was only one number programmed into the phone, Steve’s name printed beside it in neat white letters. Tony briefly wondered why the previous call had been from an unknown caller, but then again Steve was a busy man and probably didn’t carry his own flip phone with him everywhere. Hell, Tony had left his in a dresser for the first several months after receiving it, not wanting to look at the physical reminder of his abandonment.

 

Tony let the screen burn itself into his eyes before finally hitting the “call” button. It rang exactly twice before someone answered, surprisingly.

 

“Tony _?_ ” Just a little hopeful, or maybe it was just a trick of the less-than-desirable speaker quality.

 

His mouth went dry as he slowly lifted the phone to his ear. “Steve _._ ”

 

 “Did something happen?” Steve’s voice crackles over the line, as though the call might disconnect at any moment, emulating the tentative nature of their current relationship.

 

“No,” Tony says quickly, because nothing _had_ happened, nothing that really warranted calling Steve and arranging a meeting, at least. “I just…” For once in his life, Tony Stark didn’t have the words. “I want to see you.”

 

This is the lamest conversation he’d ever held, by far.

 

“What? The connection isn’t very good, can you speak up?” Steve practically shouts, the sound of wind ruffling over the speaker.

 

“I _said I want to meet!_ ” Tony repeats, his voice echoing in the big, empty bedroom.

 

There’s a pause, and Tony thinks for a moment that the call got dropped completely. But then, “When? Where?” Like it had been that easy to reach out this entire time.

 

“I’ll send a location.”

 

* * *

 

 

Meeting in the middle seemed like the reasonable thing to do. Tony couldn’t stop rubbing sweat-slicked hands on his jeans as the quinjet carried him closer and closer to Paris. He and Steve agreed to meet at a nondescript hotel on the edge of the city. He landed on a private runway, out of public sight, then took a cab to the rendezvous. It took each and every bit of nerve he had to take the elevator up to the penthouse suite, where Steve would already be waiting for him.

 

When Tony rapped his knuckles gently against the door in the rhythm of “shave and a haircut”, the door opened almost immediately, pulled back to reveal Steve. It felt like decades since the last time they’d seen each other, lifetimes even, but at the same time it was as if no time had passed at all. Tony, infuriatingly, still felt everything he’d felt when he’d last seen Steve, all of that hurt and betrayal and anger and deep, unrelenting fondness.

 

Steve stood there in the doorway, dumbly. He stared at Tony. His face looked older, or maybe it was just the lumberjack-esque beard he now sported. His body seemed broader as well, somehow even heavier with muscle than it had been almost a year ago. He wore an ordinary blue jacket over a grey shirt, and jeans. Paired with the new facial hair, and maybe a pair of glasses, hardly anyone would be able to recognize him. Tony would know him no matter what interesting things he did to his face, or lack of an American flag on his attire.

 

“Do they not have razors where you’re living these days?” Tony asks, the quip rolling off his tongue easily, like the two of them are still friends and everything is fine. In his defense, he’d just spent the last two months being friends with Steve, just not this specific one.

 

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve says, and he sounds exasperated as always, but now there’s no undercurrent of affection in his voice. Steve has very, very few tells, but Tony knows what to look for. It’s obvious that the other man is nervous about this spontaneous meeting: his eyes occasionally flicker to the wall just over Tony’s shoulder instead of looking a Tony himself, the hand at his side is twitching like it wants to curl into a fist, the other is still gripping the door.

 

“Not my best work I’ll admit, but give me a break, I’ve been out of practice,” Tony says with a shrug, trying and almost managing to not sound bitter. He sees the corner of Steve’s mouth quirk downwards for a second, disapproving of the way this interaction is going already.

 

He slips past Steve and into the room without another word, since it’s probably best if they don’t have their entire exchange there in the doorway. Steve lets the door fall shut behind him and turns so that his back is resting firmly against it, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Neither man moves as they stand facing each other.

 

“So,” Tony begins, consciously trying not to fidget. It feels a little bit like he’s sitting in the dean’s office after throwing a keg party in the engineering lab. The tension in the space between them is palpable. “I think it’s about time we handled this like adults, don’t you?”

 

“I think I’m the one who reached out in the first place,” Steve says, his tone stuck between stern and awkward. “So, what’s there to handle now, Tony?” he asks, as skeptical and guarded as ever. He’s not going to give an inch willingly, Tony will have to relentlessly tug this conversation along if he wants it to go anywhere.

 

“Look, let me just say this at the get-go. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching lately, and I think I can forgive Barnes.” He knows that Bucky’s safety is Steve’s top priority. _Obviously_. So it’s best for Tony to at least _attempt_ to assure him that he doesn’t intend to hunt the one-armed man down for an execution. He’s past that, can think rationally.

 

Steve’s look of genuine surprise is the first real emotion Tony has seen since he set foot in this hotel. “What?” It’s probably the last thing he expected to hear Tony say.

 

“I know, I know, believe me, it gets old always having to be the bigger person.” Tony sighs, then sits down on the edge of the bed, almost as an afterthought. “The murderous rage left pretty much as soon as it came. I got caught up in the heat of the moment, but the moment has passed. I’ve had time to look at all the files, I know that it wasn’t his fault. Not really. He carried out _the physical act of it_ ,” his voice becomes strained with the emotion in it, “but his mind wasn’t his. As much as it frustrates me, I can’t stick the blame on him. Hydra put the hit out, the blood is on their hands.

 

“Where you’re concerned, I’m still pissed at you for not telling me. Do you know how different it could’ve been if I had dealt with my grief _before_ we dove into that whole fiasco? Or that I just, ya know, deserved to know the truth?”

 

“I had no way of knowing you’d react any differently than you did,” Steve cuts in, defensive. He shifts ever so slightly, a sign of discomfort.

 

“You didn’t,” Tony agrees stiffly, “but I could’ve helped him, if things had been different. If you had given things a chance to be different. I could’ve had my PR team handle him being reintroduced to the public, my legal team could’ve gotten him pardoned for his past crimes, and various other connections could’ve provided the best psychological care money can buy. And, you know…maybe it would’ve helped if he just had someone who understands him.”

 

“Understands him,” Steve repeats.

 

“Captured by a terrorist organization, tortured, forced to become or create a weapon of mass murder? Sound familiar?” Tony stares steadily into Steve’s eyes now. “Or did you forget that happened to me too?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Steve says quickly, brows furrowing. “I just didn’t think you’d want to help him, after what he’s done to your family. I couldn’t ask you to.”

 

“ _We_ were family, Steve. I would’ve done it for you, or found some way to help indirectly. You always made such riveting speeches about teamwork and comradery while we were on a team together, but when it came to stuff like this you’re so quick to do things all by yourself. All you had to do was be honest with me. And ask.”

 

The other man ducks his head away from Tony for a moment, perhaps genuinely ashamed. “We still _are_ family, Tony,” he says quietly.

 

Now it’s Tony’s turn to be surprised. “Are we?”

 

“I came here alone because I trust you, and because I want to make things right. I called you three months ago because I want us to communicate again, at the least. I mean what I said in that letter, I really do. I will never turn my back on you.” His eyes are a blazing blue fire when he says this, indisputably honest. “Tony, you are one of the best men I’ve ever known. Surely you know I still care about you.”

 

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Tony says bitterly, trying to push down the wave of emotion that threatens to choke him up.

 

“I know,” Steve replies apologetically. “I’ve still got so much to figure out, about myself.” He shifts slightly against the door, tone changing back from certainty to uncertainty. “I’ve been going from war to war ever since I became Captain America, with very little room to breathe in-between. It’s time for me to decide what it means to be _me_ , in this day and age. That’s what I’ve been doing these past months.”

 

Tony nods. “And what have you learned so far, prey tell?”

 

“That I’m a mess,” Steve admits, cracking a smile that was barely the suggestion of itself. “That I cling to the past and push away the future. I pretend that everything can just go back to the way it’s been, but I know that it can’t now. I’ve got to learn to let go, and look to what happens next, try to do things in the meantime that give each day meaning for me.”

 

“So, what about the Avengers?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s worth rebuilding from scratch, or if it’s even possible at this point.”

 

“You told me once that it was home for you,” Tony says. “Were you lying?”

 

“No.” Steve says it hurriedly, frowning at the very thought. “No, but I was playing a part back then, being the leader everyone needed me to be. I was there for my skills and expertise, disregarding everything else that came with me. In a way, I was set up to fail.”

 

“So what, you’re just doling out vigilante justice around the world now? Braiding hair and painting nails with Barnes between missions?”

 

Steve shakes his head, biting back a bittersweet smile. “No, not with Bucky. I haven’t seen him in a while now.”

 

Tony furrows his brows. “He’s not with you?”

 

“He’s…safe, at a classified location. It was his choice to stay out of sight, at least until he isn’t a threat to anyone anymore. It’s what’s best for him, and I will honor his choices, even if it means we aren’t together.” He sighs, the long exhale deflating his stature, making him look smaller, tired. “He’s not the same person I knew, I’m trying to come to terms with that. Sometimes he would look at me, and I knew he didn’t remember me the same way I remember him. He tried so hard to act like it though, but I don’t want him to feel like he needs to pretend he’s okay, especially not for my sake. I’ll never give up on him, but if our friendship is going to survive we’ll have to start over again.”

 

“Hm.” Tony nods thoughtfully. “So, if you’re not coming back to the Avengers, but we’re somehow going to move on from our past issues, what do you propose we do?”

 

“I’m feeling pretty homesick,” Steve admits hesitantly, like he’s trying to keep his hopes extinguished. He already knows how hard it would be to arrange his return without a huge international legal fallout.

 

“For you to come home,” Tony begins, not completely ruling the possibility out yet, “you’d have to bring in Bucky. You know that.” Steve stiffens up at this, but Tony presses on as if he doesn’t notice. “And you’ll have to face the UN. If we do this the right way, we might be able to work things out. You, Sam and Nat are all valuable assets, and maybe Rhodey, Vision and I can advocate for you.”

 

“I won’t risk Bucky being taken into custody, or worse,” Steve says resolutely. “Even if it means I can’t ever go back.”

 

“That’s why we have to have a strategy beforehand,” Tony replies. “The accords still have room for amendments, and it’s recent enough that we might be able to build up a solid defense for Bucky that will keep him out of any _serious_ trouble. He’ll still probably have to stay under psychological supervision for a specified amount of time, assessed and signed off on by a team of specialists, not to mention the stipulations for you, Nat, Sam and Wanda. Or whoever wants to do this, if anyone.” The last part said grimly, because there was the possibility that the others might not ever want to come back. “It’s not impossible, though, if you’re willing to put the work in.”

 

Technically, Tony was breaking a lot of rules just by being here; he hadn’t informed anyone that he’d be meeting with the most wanted man in the world. Might as well push the envelope a little further. “Help me make this right, Steve. This is the last chance we’ve got. If we don’t do this now…I don’t know if you’ll ever have the chance again.”

 

“Tony,” Steve says, frowning. “I don’t want to go back if it means we all get imprisoned. I need to be able to do my job, to help people who need it without my hands tied.”

 

“I don’t know what I can do for you, other than shoot for some kind of probationary arrangement. Clint and Scott took house arrest deals, right? I don’t know that you’ll get off that easy, but maybe something comaparable.”

 

Steve fixed him with a look that said he wanted to try, but wasn’t sure how this would work out. There were, for a fact, many, _many_ ways in which this could go horribly wrong, and very, _very_ few ways in which it could go right.

 

Tony said, “Do you trust me?”

 

“It’s not a question of trusting you," Steve replies, "it’s trusting the bureaucracy that runs things now.”

 

“You don’t have to trust them,” Tony says with a slow smile, reminiscent of the smile he often gave Steve when he was up to no good, “it’s knowing how to say all the right things. Leave that part to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, i'm not saying i did a fabulous job of tying everything up, BUT this is the (hopefully, maybe) first part of a bigger series of works, if i can find the motivation to keep this world going. i might make more installments later, that will be more winteriron-y and might even go all the way up to the events of infinity war (canon divergent, obviously, but still)
> 
> i'll be honest, i ended things here because i genuinely ran out of steam. i wanted to be able to tie everything up with a neat little bow but that wasn't feasible unless i wanted to write 10 more chapters, so at least this ending is somewhat satisfactory and ends on a hopeful note. i'll really try to revisit this and write a part two in the future, because i still do have interest in exploring more stuff, especially between Bucky and Tony and their modern-day relationship, but also all the other Avengers too.
> 
> this is it for now, though. hope you enjoyed this truly bizarre first installment of this series, and thank you for all the wonderful comments and kudos, hope you stay tuned for more xoxo


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